The Panther of Legends
by texgal
Summary: She had once heard that time heals all wounds. How much time would it take for hers to fade?
1. prologue

Prologue

_Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori was my idea._

The woman who was once known as Zetsumei Kurohyou lies in the arms of the one she loves and wonders if she is going to die.

Blood seeps from the deep wound in the center of her chest, flanked by two scars that flared angrily on her skin. Her senses are leaving her even as she fights to remain awake: she can no longer feel the arms around her waist or the warm body against which she is propped. She can only faintly taste the coppery blood that she knows coats her tongue. The sounds around her are distant; the voice that is repeatedly calling her name already sounds so far away.

Her sight, however, is as sharp as it ever has been. The face of her beloved fills the entirety of her vision as his tears and blood mingle and drip onto her own face. She can see his lips moving even as the sound of his voice fades to a slight irritation in her ears. Her eyes are closing now; the end is almost upon her. The woman's mind begins to drift.

Her blood is gushing from the wound in her chest as the man she loves clings to her, his voice desperate in her ear. He is angry; he is afraid; he is frantically worried for her. He is a notorious _hitokiri_; he already knows that no one survives a wound like hers. But he is a man who has found something he holds as precious; he cannot make himself accept the fact that his precious thing is about to die.

Somewhere nearby is her spiky-haired friend. It was through him that her beloved was brought back into her life. His laidback attitude, his casual acceptance of her faults and the horrors of her past have helped the woman to change from the cold, broken wreck she had been for so long back to the person she had been before betrayal and heartbreak had wrenched a hole in her heart long before a blade finally pierced it. The woman's friend has helped her to heal; now she will not have the chance to properly thank him. She owes him much; now she will leave her debt unpaid.

Somewhere nearby is the police officer whom she hates with a passion that brands her soul. This is the man who killed her beloved master; who propelled her into the life she has lived for so long; whose actions set her upon the road to bloodshed. This is the man against whom she has sworn an oath of vengeance. Now she will not have the opportunity to resend that oath – or to fulfill it.

And somewhere nearby is a man who is a monster in disguise – the insane killer who has claimed to love her, and has now driving his blade through her heart. She feels disgust at the thought of this man; disgust and self-hatred at the remembrance of what he has done to her in the time they have become reacquainted. Even now, as her life slips away from her courtesy of the monster's katana edge, she can feel the ghosts of his hands on her skin. Even now, as her face is spattered with his blood, his whore's blood, and her own blood, she can taste his madness on her tongue. His obsession with her has frightened her; it has overwhelmed her with its intensity. As he himself cradles the dying body of a woman who loves him – a woman he has surely killed as well – his madness claws at the woman's skin like physical hands grasping at her. Now his own actions will take the object of his obsession away from him forever.

The vision behind the woman's closed eyelids becomes peaceful as she feels herself sinking deeper into the blackness that calls to her. A faint grin flits across her bloodstained lips as she sighs, unmindful of the arms that tighten around her physical shell; unheeding of the voice that desperately calls for her. Peace fills her as the vision plays out in her mind.

She sees the man she loves with all of her tainted heart and soul. She sees her spiky-haired friend beside him, fishbone firmly clenched between his teeth as a grin lights up his face. She sees a young boy with a wooden bokken tied onto his back, his arms waving through the air as he shouts obscenities as the taller man. She sees a girl poised on the brink of womanhood, who walks beside her beloved and offers a gentle smile at the little boy's antics. They are all walking towards a familiar dojo. They are all smiling; they are all whole.

The woman watches as the figures she has come to care for slowly move away from her and knows that they will be alright without her. The girl will take care of her beloved as she promised, and the young one and her friend will help him find the peace he so desperately deserves. They will live and laugh and love and grieve together; and they will be happy.

As the world around her fades and begins to go dark, the figure of her beloved turns suddenly to face her. As one, the other three turn as well. There are tears on their faces. The smiles of before are gone.

As one, they all lift their arms and reach out…for _her._

The lips of her beloved are moving. As the others begin to fade into the surrounding blackness, as he begins to grow dark, words float to her in the void. Words from the lips of the one she loves…

"_Kabu…come back to me…"_

A sigh escapes her as all fades to black: one word that she cherishes more than her own life is whispered for the eager ears of the man who returns her love.

"_Kenshin…"_


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

_**Note: any italicized words are Japanese words or the character's thoughts.**_

"_Gomennasai_, madam."

Midori looked up from her sake to the pale face of the innkeeper. The little man was sweating, wringing his hands nervously as he eyed her. He did not continue.

"Yes?" Midori prompted gently after a moment of awkward silence. The innkeeper flinched as if struck.

"Sorry, so sorry!" he exclaimed, panicky. "The men in the booth, they say you must leave, they say no woman may eat while they wait to be served!! They make threats to your person, madam! You must leave before they may harm you. I will wrap your meal –"

"There is no need," Midori interrupted, turning back to her sake. "I am not leaving. If the gentlemen do not enjoy watching me and have something to say, they are welcome to join me. I have more than enough food."

The innkeeper dithered on the spot for a moment, before bobbing a little bow and making his way to the rowdy group of men in question.

Midori set aside her cup of sake and picked up her chopsticks, inwardly growling at the groups' rudeness. She was a paying customer. She had stopped for the night at this remote little inn for a warm meal and hot bath, not to mention a soft bed. While jumpy, the innkeeper was polite and kind enough, not asking any questions about a woman traveling alone or charging her an unfair rate, as other innkeepers had been known to do from time to time. Midori had waited for her meal quietly, and now that it was before her, she would enjoy the good food that she had paid for, whether the rude men liked it or not.

She was almost finished with her meal when a large hand suddenly latched onto her left wrist, stopping her as she moved her chopsticks to a piece of beef. Looking up in surprise, Midori locked her catlike green eyes with a pair of squinty brown ones narrowed in anger and unmistakable lust.

"So the little bitch thinks she can eat before me, does she?" he spat, his breath reeking of sake.

"Release my hand," Midori replied calmly. The drunkard tightened his grip, leering at her. Midori could see the little innkeeper wringing his hands behind several of the other intoxicated men from the rowdy group. They were making sure that he could not get around them so as to allow their friend his fun.

"Maybe this little whore needs a lesson in manners," the leering man hissed, jerking Midori to her feet. "Little whores shouldn't give orders to their betters. I plan on making you pay for that, and for thinking yourself so high and mighty as to dare to eat before us men!"

"Sir, please - !" the innkeeper squeaked, only to be pushed violently to the floor by his guards.

"I'll get to you later, you old fool!" the drunkard shouted, turning his head to glare at the huddled figure. "Hiring scum like this to whore for you, and not teaching her her place! You are pathetic!"

As soon as the man had turned his head, Midori had used her free hand to draw the _tantou _that she had spotted hidden in the man's dirty _shatsu, _and pressed it lightly to his neck. He froze, as did his comrades.

"Release my arm," she repeated, her voice still calm and quiet. Her assailant did so, holding his hands slightly out to the sides. His dark little eyes widened slightly in fear.

"Tell your companions to aid the innkeeper in getting to his feet," she continued. A flailing motion of one hand had the other fools scrambling, hauling the innkeeper upright, brushing off his clothes, murmuring hurried apologies.

"Now then," Midori began, still keeping a slight pressure on the blade of the borrowed dagger, keeping the drunken man in place. "In regards to your accusation of the innkeeper having poor employees in his service, you are mistaken. I do not work here. I am merely a wanderer who happens to be passing through. You will now apologize to the innkeeper for the insult which you have given him. Secondly, you and your friends will offer this man your sincerest apologies for becoming overly intoxicated and causing a scene. Do so now."

Grasping the collar of the man's shatsu, Midori turned him slightly so that he was now facing the trembling innkeeper.

"Apologize," she commanded her prisoner in a quiet voice.

He gulped visibly, his eyes darting from the innkeeper to her face and back again.

"_G-g-omen-na-sai," _he finally stuttered.

"_GOMENNASAI!" _his friends shouted, edging away from the innkeeper in fright.

With a small tug, Midori turned the man to face her once again.

"For the insult which you have laid upon me, I will accept no apology," she whispered. "A person's honor is a sacred thing, and to tarnish it without cause is a cruel and senseless way to insult someone. Pay this man what you owe him for the generous meal he has provided, and then leave. See that we do not cross paths again."

She released the man's collar and removed the dagger from his throat. In a flash he was running from her, his friends on his heels as they fled the inn.

The innkeeper bowed low to her, still shaking violently.

"_Arigatou gozaimimasu,"_ he squeaked, his head nearly parallel with his knees.

Midori approached the little man slowly, her eyes on the still open entrance and the pouring rain beyond.

_Raining again. . ._

She gently raised the man from his bow, placing the _tatou_ in his trembling hand before bowing respectfully and leaving the dining area, abandoning her unfinished meal.

The nightmare visited her that night, as she had known it would.

_The icy rain pours from the heavens, soaking Midori's body and plastering her hair to her face, neck, and back. _

_The screams are unbearable. Midori's head fells like it would soon explode from the awful noise that surrounds her. Hands grasp her ankles as she stumbles through the endless field of zombies her sword had created. Cries reverberate in the blackness of the night._

"_Jihi!! Awaremu!!"_

_Mercy…pity…_

_She falls to her knees in the mass of bodies. Instantly hands grab her arms, her clothing, anything they find a purchase on, and begin to drag her down to join them. She fights them, jerking and pulling to try to free herself, but to no avail._

_Sandaled feet enter her line of sight, and she looks up into eyes of cold amber, framed by hair the color of blood. _

_Her enemy crouches before her, uninhibited by the angry zombies beneath his feet. For a long moment the two stare at each other, cold amber and vibrant emerald, each taking a silent measure of the other. At last the red haired man stands, unsheathing his sword as he does so._

"_Reserve a place for me in hell, Death Panther." His voice, cold and emotionless, cuts through her soul as his blade cuts through her skin._

Midori jerks awake, gasping at the intense pain radiating from her left shoulder, just to the side of her heart. The old scar aches as if newly healed, rather than a souvenir of ten years past. She remembered thinking, at the time of the wounding, that it would never completely heal, because she had never found out why the red haired man had been trying to kill her. Until she uncovered that secret, her wound would continue to cause her pain.

Midori had never found an answer to her unspoken question. She did not know if it was because of an order or out of bloodlust. During those indescribably blood-soaked years of the Revolution, either answer could be correct. And given the identity of her assailant, the latter was far more likely in her eyes.

After all, the Battousai was a murdering demon, just as she was. Bloodlust on his part would have come as naturally as breathing. 


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I forgot to put this in the earlier chapters, but obviously I don't own Rouroni Kenshin_

* * *

Midori absolutely _hated _the crowds in Tokyo.

As she pushed her way down the packed sidewalk, Midori found herself wondering, for probably the hundredth time, why in the name of all the gods she had come here in the first place. She always avoided cities; not only were they too damned crowded, too smelly, and much too noisy for her tastes, but the _katana_ that she always wore strapped over her back was like a beacon for terrified stares.

So what if the pathetic government had outlawed _katana_'s? So what if she was breaking that stupid Meji law? Midori was a proud samurai, a follower of the sword, and icicles would form in the pits of hell before anyone took her treasured blade from her. She shot a cold glare at a group of men on the opposite walk way, across the road. They were all staring at her with looks ranging from petrified to furious plastered on their faces.

As she locked her emerald green eyes with the one closest to the edge of the walkway, the man's face reddened with obvious anger. She smirked at him, cocking her head as she came to a standstill directly across from him. Raising one hand, Midori beckoned languidly to him.

Almost instantly the angry man had shot across the street, coming close enough to intrude on her personal space. The look on his face was clearly meant to be intimidating, but Midori's smirk widened in amusement.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, woman?" the man snarled at her. Midori raised her left eyebrow at him.

"It should be plain, even to a rudely staring imbecile, that I am walking," she replied calmly. "Is there something you wished to say, or is it your daily habit to feast your eyes on whomever you wish?"

"What gives you the right to carry a _katana_ around in broad daylight, woman?" he spat; his friends had now crossed the street to join him, forming a rough circle around her. People who had been passing on the walkway were now stopping to stare in interest.

"It is my blade," Midori stated, a hint of warning in her quiet voice as she locked eyes with the fool. "I will carry it whenever I see fit. What business is it of yours?"

"It's against the law to carry a _katana_, you stupid woman!" one of the others snapped.

"I care nothing for the laws of a weak government. Step aside. Now."

Midori was aware of the shifting of the men around her. They were moving toward her, rather than away. She made no move to defend herself as the man in front of her reached out and grabbed her black silk _gi_, jerking her forward until their faces were inches apart. She could smell many things wafting off him: anger, frustration, a slight hint of fear, and the ever-present stench of lust. She gave him a bored look as he growled at her, letting him know that she was not in the least bit afraid of him, or worried about the fact that she was outnumbered five to one.

"How dare you insult our government!" he roared in her face as the gathering crowd looked on, murmuring amongst themselves. "They have brought us stability and peace! You will shut your woman's mouth, fool! I take it upon myself to escort you to the police, for violation of the law."

Midori grinned wickedly at him. "And just how do you plan on doing that, _baka_?"

The man actually had the balls to slap her in the face. Hard. The murmuring crowd fell silent as Midori's head snapped to the side from the force of the blow. Her green eyes locked with the black ones of a small child hiding herself behind her mothers' skirts. The child flinched slightly, bringing a small hand up to cover her own cheek, her innocent face swamped with pity for Midori. Midori grinned at her and winked.

Faster than most would believe possible, Midori had grasped the wrist of the hand being used to restrain her, given a sharp tug, and dislocated her assailant's shoulder. His fingers immediately went limp as he howled in pain like an oversized baby. Midori stepped out of his loosened grasp, catching his hand as it fell from her shirt. With a simple flick of the wrist, she had the fool sprawled flat on his back on the ground, the breath completely knocked out of him. Hardly exerting any effort at all, Midori jammed the socket back to its rightful position; the crowd let out a collective gasp of shock as the man squealed breathlessly.

"You should learn to read when your opponent outclasses you, if you wish to live very much longer," she said lightly, releasing the man's wrist and letting the twice-injured arm flop to the ground. Looking up, she locked eyes with one of the man's friends, who was staring at her open-mouthed in near-panic. Smirking at him for only a moment, Midori smoothed out her now rumpled _gi_, straightened the strap that secured the _katana_, and turned to the little girl.

She smiled at her, and the girl, still partially hidden behind her frightened-looking mother, smiled back after the smallest of hesitations. Midori walked over, crouched down so that she was on eye-level with the child, and asked, "What is your name, _neesan_?"

"Sakura," the little girl whispered, clutching tighter to her mother's skirt.

Midori smiled again, thinking of the beauty of a sakura tree in bloom, of the sweet scent that would pervade the air and fill the countryside with new life. Sakura. A good name.

Reaching up the left sleeve of her _gi_, Midori withdrew the heavy money-pouch that she always wore tied to her arm. Opening the pouch, Midori extracted two gold coins, enough money to pay a family's taxes for several years to come. Placing the pouch back in her sleeve, Midori gently pried one of the girl's chubby little hands free of her mother's skirt and placed the gold in her palm, curling her fingers securely around it.

"A thank-you for your kindness, little Sakura," Midori stated, watching as the child's eyes lit up in amazement. Standing, Midori's eyes met the astonished gaze of the girl's mother, and bowed her head politely before stepping over the prone figure of her would-be attacker and continuing on her way.

* * *

Midori settled down at her table in the little restaurant with a contented sigh.

"Hello, ma'am, welcome to the Akabeko. I'm Tae Sekihara, what can I get for you?" the young woman with an apron and head kerchief asked in a slightly odd, twangy voice. Slightly behind her, a pretty young girl no older than twelve lingered, apparently wanting to help if necessary, as she and the Sekihara woman wore almost identical outfits. Midori smiled politely at them, nudging her _katana_ further out of sight underneath her table.

"Sake, please, and a small order of beef." The two nodded in unison before scurrying off. Midori took the moment alone to scan the restaurant. As it was noon, the building was fairly busy with the lunch rush, and to her satisfaction, no one was paying her the slightest bit of attention in her slightly gloomy corner. Pleased with that observation, Midori smiled once again as the young girl she had seen earlier returned with a bottle of sake and a cup.

"T-t-tae-san says that y-your b-b-beef will b-be ready s-s-shortly, M-miss," the girl stuttered in an extremely quiet voice, the slightest hint of a twang in it. Setting the bottle and the cup on the table, she stole a shy look at Midori before blushing slightly and disappearing the way she had come. Grinning at the girl's discomfort, Midori uncorked the bottle of sake and poured herself a glass, setting the bottle back down on the table before raising the cup to her lips and sipping deeply. The sake was of good quality, sweet and smooth as it slid down her throat. Loosing another sigh of contentment, Midori drained the cup and poured herself another, allowing herself to relax slightly for the first time since her run-in with that band of fools earlier.

_Nothing like a bottle of alcohol to take one's mind off one's troubles, _she thought wryly, rolling her neck from side to side until she heard it pop. Her muscles were tenser than usual, as they always were when she ventured into a city. Even after so many years, Midori found that she could not walk down a street in any city in Japan without constantly checking the roofs for danger. Every alleyway was carefully scanned from her peripheral vision, every passing body searched for hidden weapons. Ten years, and her habits still refused to die.

_I suppose these habits did keep me alive when I would otherwise surely have died, _she mused, checking with her foot for her sword. Taking another sip of her sake, Midori closed her eyes and heaved another sigh of contentment. Her relaxed state was abruptly interrupted, however, when the sound of shattering china rang out in the packed restaurant. Midori groaned inwardly; would trouble follow her every step today? Opening her eyes once again, she scanned the now silent restaurant until her eyes came to rest on the cowering figure of Sekihara-san, who was trying to back away from an irate customer without tripping over the shattered teapot beneath her feet, as a dark stain slowly spread across the floor. Glancing up at the red face of said customer, Midori's eyes narrowed into angry slits as she recognized that pompous fool from earlier, the one whose arm she had dislocated. The injured limb was now tucked into a make-shift sling across his chest. Midori felt anger begin to bubble in the pit of her stomach as his other arm shot out, grabbing Sekihara-san and yanking her back to him.

"What kinda respectable restaurant you runnin' here, lady?" he snarled in her face. "That tea was cold, and it tasted like sewage! You tryin' to poison me, lady? Is that it?"

"Sir, please!" Sekihara-san squeaked, her twang even more pronounced. "Please let me go!"

"Better do as she says, pal."

A tall man wearing a red headband, with possibly the funniest looking hairstyle Midori had ever seen, walked up to the red-faced man quite casually, hands in his pockets.

"Sagara-san!!" Sekihara-san exclaimed.

"You just butt out, buster! What're you going to do if I don't, huh?" the man spat.

"If you do not release the woman," Midori broke in, her temper flaring dangerously as she stood and made her way over to the threesome, "I will finish what I started on the streets and dislodge your other arm."

The instant Midori had begun speaking, the man had jerked his head around to lock his muddy little eyes with Midori's green ones. As she advanced slowly upon him, the color leeched from his face, leaving him as pale as a corpse. Coming to a stop mere inches from him, Midori slowly reached up and placed a hand on his out-stretched arm, the hand of which was still wrapped tightly around Sekihara-san's bicep. She squeezed once, and the man instantly released his captive, who stumbled back, tripping over the ruined teapot and falling into Sagara's waiting arms.

"I-I-I'm sorry!!" the man yelped, attempting to tug his arm free; Midori tightened her grip slightly, stopping him.

"This is the second time today that you have disrupted my peace," Midori said calmly, her emerald green eyes wandering to the man's injured arm before locking on his face again. "I have killed better men than you on slighter provocations. Perhaps I should remove your arm altogether; then you would not be able to manhandle innocent women like Sekihara-san."

"Hey, now," Sagara put in, steadying Sekihara-san and reaching out to put a large hand on Midori's shoulder. "I don't think Tae is going to thank you if you get blood all over her floor. Let the bastard go, who cares about him? With the look on your face the guy's probably going to drop dead ten years sooner anyway."

Midori knew the man with the laughable hair-do was right, and as the anger that had flared so unexpectedly moments earlier receded, she released her hold on her prisoner's arm and took a small step back. The man made to bolt, but Midori immediately grabbed the back of his _gi_, jerking him to a halt.

"You have not yet apologized to Sekihara-san," she reminded the oaf.

"W-w-what?" he gasped, his pale cheeks regaining some of their former color as he flushed.

"Apologize to Sekihara-san for the disruption you have caused," Midori ordered, a slight edge creeping into her voice. "Then pay her for the teapot you destroyed."

Sagara took one look at the man's face, after he had pulled out an empty wallet, and burst into laughter.

* * *

Several hours later, Midori followed Sanosuke Sagara down the quickly emptying cities streets, the light of a late afternoon sun casting shadows over them.

Midori still wasn't convinced that this was a good idea.

"Sir, perhaps it would be wiser if I simply stayed at an inn," she tried to say, self-consciously adjusting the strap of her sheath.

"Hey, I keep tellin' ya, just call me Sanosuke. And don't worry; Jou-chan'll put ya up for a while. I mean, come on, you _are_ a swordsman - er, woman – so what better place to stay than a dojo? 'Sides, not many places would let ya through the door with _that_ thing on your back." All this was said with a laidback tone that was so relaxed Midori found it difficult to understand how Sanosuke was not presently asleep on his feet.

After dealing with the lout at the Akabeko, Midori had returned to her table to enjoy her meal. To her slight surprise, Sanosuke had followed her, settling in at her table and chatting with her.

"So why's that idiot scared shitless of you?" Midori had forced herself not to grin; the guy had a hell of a way with words.

The two had chatted for hours. Midori was slightly surprised at herself. She rarely entered into conversations with others. She honestly could not remember the last time she had talked about such meaningless nonsense for so long and not been the least bit bored.

After a while, Sanosuke had asked her where she was staying while in town. When Midori had replied that she had not yet found an inn, Sanosuke had immediately started telling her about this dojo he stayed at sometimes. They had already touched on Midori's state of solitude, and she had reluctantly pulled her _katana_ from where she had hidden it.

Sanosuke's eyes had hardened slightly, but he had said nothing.

Now Midori found herself slightly edgy as Sanosuke led her through the main gates of the dojo. Something was telling her that this was a very bad idea, that she should make her excuses and run for it. Why was she feeling this way?

"Hey Jou-chan!" Sanosuke called, stuffing his large hands into his pockets. "Anybody home?"

"Kaoru-dono has gone to town with Yahiko-chan, Sano, that she has. This one is cooking dinner; will you be staying?"

Midori froze. Cold sweat bloomed over her body, and she felt as if she could not breathe.

"Yeah, Kenshin, I'm staying. I brought a new friend of mine, too. She's new in town and needs a place to crash."

Kenshin. Kenshin. How many years since she had last heard that name?

"This one is happy to meet a new friend, that he is. This one is called –"

"Kenshin Himura," Midori interrupted, turning her head towards that voice. "Kenshin Himura, also called Hitokiri Battousai of the Ishin Shishi."

Emerald green eyes met wide lavender; lavender narrowed and morphed slowly to gold; gold regarded emerald with cold, calculating precision.

"Zetsumei Kurohyou. A ghost from my past."

Sanosuke Sagara looked from his best friend to the woman he'd just met in astonishment. "You two know each other?"

_**It would be great if anybody reading this story would review and give me some feedback. I need to know how bad this sucks. Thanks in advance.**_


	4. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

_Author's note: Thanks for the reviews. I still do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori was completely my idea. Enjoy._

* * *

She could not believe this was happening.

_It's just a nightmare,_ she told herself frantically. _I'm dreaming. He's not real._

Midori wanted this to be a dream. She wanted to believe that any second now she would wake up under that huge old tree she'd spent the night under, shake her head at her foolishness, and laugh it off.

Those eyes were killing her. The eyes that she had trusted; that had watched her back so many times; that had been empty pools of betrayal when she had last had them fixed on her.

He had hardly changed at all. Thick red hair still framed his thin face. Muscles still rippled under his skin. And his voice, when he spoke, could still chill her blood.

"Zetsumei Kurohyou," he growled, his amber pools hardening as he took a single step forward. Midori could only stand, stunned to the core of her soul, as he advanced upon her.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Sanosuke said hastily, jumping in between them with his back to Midori, his hands raised. "Calm down, Kenshin."

Midori twitched slightly when Sanosuke actually put his hands on Battousai's shoulders, forcing him to stop. The manslayer's amber orbs slid from Midori's frozen face to Sanosuke's. The taller man shook him, once.

"Kenshin. Get back out here," he barked, his hands tight on the Battousai. "Now!"

The Battousai seemed to lock down almost immediately. His head sank to his chest, his blood red bangs hiding his sinister glare. His strong shoulders hunched under his companions' hands; his entire body appeared to be trembling violently. The three stood there until the trembling stopped abruptly. The redhead heaved a deep sigh, his shoulders relaxing again as he looked up once more.

Brilliant lavender once again locked with emerald green.

"_Kabu,"_ he whispered, his eyes filling with tears.

Midori stumbled backwards at the word. Her legs were shaking violently; her stomach was heaving. _Kabu._ Cub. She remembered the way he loved to call her that. She'd almost broken his jaw the one time he'd been cheeky enough to call her kitten.

"Riddle me this," she found herself whispering. "I am the part of the bird that is not in the sky. I can swim in the ocean, and yet remain dry. What am I?"

Midori felt her own eyes burn as the tears slid down the cheek of her one-time best friend, the man who tried to kill her. He open his mouth as if to answer the riddle asked of him thousands of times, but nothing came out except for a choked sob.

His hand reached around the body of Sanosuke, who was still planted in front of him. It reached out to Midori, as if she were its' last hope.

"_WHAT AM I?" _she shouted, stepping back again, away from the hand. It reached for a moment longer, before falling back to its normal place at his side.

"A shadow," his voice reached her ear as if from far away. "You are a shadow, that you are."

(_"Kabu, we need a way to identify each other. That's the third time this month you've tried to kill me; I'm on my fifth attempt. What should we do?"_

"_How are you with riddles, Himura?")_

It really was him.

Midori felt sick. She needed air. She needed space. Looking around wildly, her gaze latched onto the open front gates and the street beyond. In a flash she was sprinting towards it, only to stop dead when he suddenly appeared in front of her, hands flung out to his sides.

"Stay with this one!" he pleaded. "Allow this one to explain! Kabu –"

"DON'T YOU DARE CALL ME THAT, YOU BASTARD!" Midori screamed, reaching up and yanking her _katana_ from its sheath. "GET OUT OF MY WAY!"

Only then did she realize that he carried a _katana_ as well. Her muscles locked up, her instincts screaming at her to run, as the scar to the left of her heart exploded in pain. Her vision seemed to waver as his hands moved toward the instrument of her demise.

What should she do? She may have been lethally fast, but his speed had always matched hers dead on. If he did not want her to escape, she would have one hell of a time getting away from him. Also, Midori was outnumbered. Sanosuke Sagara may not have moved a muscle in the last few minutes, but years of experience had taught Midori one thing: never let your guard down.

But there was a bigger problem than the Battousai's new friend. Midori started to shake. She couldn't attack him. She had given her word...

"_Kabu?" the redhead asks._

"_Yes, ninjin?" Midori replies, grinning impishly; if anyone else had dared to call him 'carrot', they would doubtlessly have met with a very painful death._

"_Would you ever try to kill me?"_

_Midori stares at her friend in astonishment. The Battousai is not looking at her; his eyes are staring off into space, a strange look on his face. The others in their group tonight are giving the two manslayers a wide birth. Everyone talks about the strange woman with the catlike eyes and the blood-soaked monster that she works so well with. Comments are always flying that she is a monster to rival the Battousai; people say that the two had sprung up from hell together. What other explanation can there be for a female whose victims are slowly catching up to the Battousai's in number?_

"_Why would I ever wish to kill you, ninjin?" she demands, truly shocked that he would ask such a question of her._

_He does not answer her right away, lowering his face so that his long red bangs shield his eyes. Midori waits patiently for him to reply. She knows him well enough to understand that it is pointless to press him._

"_If you were ever ordered…" he whispers, trailing off. Midori bristles at the suggestion._

"_I would refuse," she hisses, incensed at the very thought of such an order. The Battousai's head comes up, and he regards her with surprise on his face. Midori has never refused a direct order from her superiors before._

_Midori returns his stare with one of her own._

"_You are Kenshin Himura," she says, her voice soft yet firm. "You are the Battousai of the Ishin Shishi; you are the greatest weapon that is under the allegiance of the rebel forces; and you are my best friend. The gods themselves could not force me to harm you. I, Zetsumei_ _Kurohyou_,_ would kill anyone foolish enough to issue such orders to me."_

_The Battousai gazes at her impassively for a time, before sighing heavily and reaching out to take her hand in his. He squeezes gently, and Midori returns the gesture. In unison the two friends lean towards each other, pressing their foreheads together in their own tribute to the friendship they will share until death parts them._

"_Thank you, kabu…my friend."_

Midori retched herself back to the present. Damn it! She couldn't do it! She couldn't bring herself to attack him. The sword slipped from her hands as she crumbled to her knees, shaking uncontrollably. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over, running down her face in two identical trails on her tanned skin. She could see nothing but the man in front of her as she fought to keep the gut-wrenching sobs locked inside.

"N-n-ninjin," she stuttered out, unconsciously reaching for him. Instantly he was there, kneeling before her, taking her trembling hands in his. He pressed his forehead to hers gently, just as he had done so many times before, long years ago.

"Kabu," he whispered, his warm breath rushing over her face. There were tears on his face as well.

"Um . . . Kenshin?" a young voice suddenly piped behind him. Looking up with pain-filled eyes, Midori saw that they had been joined by a short, dark-hair boy of about twelve, and an equally short girl of around seventeen with blue-black hair and the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

"Kenshin? Is there a reason you're sitting in my courtyard holding a crying stranger?"

* * *

They were _still_ talking about her.

Midori leaned against one of the support beams on the dojo's porch and gazed up at the stars, trying to ignore the rather loud voices behind her. Her_ katana_ rested in its' sheath, which she held gently on her lap. The girl had wanted to take it away from her, but one look from Midori's fierce green eyes had the girl backtracking fast.

"But Kenshin, you haven't even seen this woman for ten years! How do you know she won't just kill us all in our sleep?" That girl sure had an annoyingly shrill voice.

"Kaoru-dono, this one would never allow harm to come to any of you, that he would not." Her ninjin sounded odd. The two of them had always used very proper speech patterns with anyone other than each other, but her old friend sounded almost idiotic now. He had not once used the pronoun _I _yet in speaking to these people.

They had been arguing for hours now. Most of the talking was being done by Himura and the girl. Himura was practically begging this Kaoru to let Midori stay. Kaoru was, to use Sanosuke Sagara's words, 'scared shitless' of Midori and wanted her gone as soon as humanly possible. No one had asked what Midori had wanted.

She sighed, closing her eyes against the cloudless night sky and tuning out the insistent nagging behind her. This was one of the reasons Midori hated cities. No one ever knew when to shut up.

She was almost asleep when she sensed someone come out onto the porch.

"At night they come without being fetched," a soft voice whispered next to her, "and by day they are lost without being stolen. What are they?"

Midori sighed again, her chest tightening at the old riddle she had not heard in years. Opening her eyes to gaze at the sky above, she felt a sad smile tug at the corners of her mouth.

"The stars."

_("Why are you so fascinated with the stars, kabu?"_

_"Because they always come back; every night, they come back without requiring a bribe. They're reliable."_

_"But in the morning they are stolen from you."_

_"Not stolen, ninjin. Just temporarily lost. You have to go through the day to make it to the night and find them again, but you know that they will be there. Sometimes that's the only thing that makes the days bearable: the promise of the night, and of the stars.")_

They sat in silence for some time, neither looking at the other. At last Kenshin Himura sighed quietly.

"Kaoru-dono has agreed to let you stay here as long as you wish," he explained, his voice low. "She will not attempt to remove your _katana_ from your possession again."

Midori frowned, gripping her blade tighter. "I have not said that I wish to stay, Himura."

She would have left already if it wasn't for her damned bag. Sagara had taken it from her at the Akabeko, offering to carry it for her. She had yet to get it back, and all her worldly possessions were in there, along with a good bit of money.

"Where would you go, kabu?"

Midori flinched at the name. "I would wander, as I have done for the past decade. I have no reason to stay here."

"You would not stay for me?" he asked softly, the barest hint of a plea. Midori turned her face to him, raising her eyebrows slightly.

"'Me' and not 'this one'?" she asked mockingly. "You sounded like a complete idiot in there, Himura. Did you forget how to say 'I' and 'me' or are you just having fun being weirdly polite to these people?"

He raised his head to look at her, and Midori's heart squeezed. His eyes were deep indigo flecked with gold; a color she had missed terribly.

"I find it easier to be myself around you, kabu." His voice was laced with despair.

Midori flinched again at his nickname for her. "I would appreciate if you would not call me that."

The gold swirled out as his eyes narrowed. "I have always called you that, kabu. You are my cub, as I am your…carrot."

Midori looked away from him as her anger swelled. "That was before you tried to kill me, Battousai."

So quickly that she did not have time to react, Midori found herself pinned on her back on the porch. Her arms were stuck to the wooden boards by his hands; she knew that her _katana_ now lay on the ground, out of her reach. Fierce golden orbs glared down at her as red locks tickled her cheeks.

"_Do not use that name,"_ he snarled, in that blood-curling voice she hated so much.

"That is what you are to me," she spat back, not caring if she made him angrier. She was very aware of his body pressed to hers, and she wanted him off of her, _now._ "You ceased to be my ninjin when you drove your blade through my chest. Unhand me."

His grip on her tightened painfully. "You're not leaving me, kabu."

"Should I stay here with you, so that you have the opportunity to try to kill me again?" she growled back, furious with his arrogance, that he dared try to order her about.

"I will not let anyone harm you, kabu," he informed her smoothly, his thumbs stroking small circles onto her wrists.

"Damn you, stop calling me that!" she yelled at him, her face only inches from his. "Get off me, Himura! I will not stay here! I will not put my life in your hands again! I have made that mistake once, and all that I have to show for it is the scar and the nightmares!"

For a moment he did nothing, merely gazed down at her with those eerie golden eyes. Then he abruptly got off her, pulling her to her feet before letting her go and turning away.

"Your belongings are in my room," he told her softly, his back to her. "It is late and we should sleep. We can talk more in the morning." With that he began walking, not turning back to make sure she followed.

She did not. She leapt lightly down from the porch and retrieved her _katana_, gripping the familiar sheath tightly in her shaking hands.

Damn him. Damn him to hell. He was not her friend anymore. Her ninjin would never have touched her like that, knowing of her hatred for most men, as well as the reason behind it. She didn't care what he said: she was leaving tonight, and he would not stop her. _Period._

"Let's go, kabu."

She whirled, sinking into a defensive crouch, one hand moving to the hilt of her weapon. He made no move to stop her, his own arms folded calmly over his chest. His eyes were still a burning gold.

"Kenshin?" a small voice almost whimpered. Midori jerked her head toward the sound, having completely forgotten that there were other people at this dojo. Her gaze locked with the sapphire blue eyes of the Kaoru girl, whose mouth was currently hanging open in horror.

"W-what's going on, Kenshin?" the girl asked, clutching at the folds of her sleeping yukata nervously.

Looking warily back at Himura, Midori was surprised to see that the gold had been completely replaced by lavender again. Himura uncrossed his arms as he turned to the girl, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.

"Nothing is going on, Kaoru-dono. This one is just showing Midori-dono where she will be sleeping, that he is. Kaoru-dono should go back to sleep, that she should. This one will have breakfast ready early tomorrow." All this was said in a cheery voice, a silly smile plastered over Himura's face. Kaoru eyed him doubtfully for a moment before glancing back at Midori, whose hand was still wrapped around the hilt of her sword. With a whispered "oyasumi nasai" the girl scampered away, disappearing behind a sliding door.

Midori slowly straightened out of her crouch, forcing her hand to release its' death grip on the sword. "She is very young."

Himura made no comment to this, merely smiling sadly at her.

Taking a deep breath, she rolled her shoulders once before hesitantly stepping up to her one-time friend.

"I will not sleep with you," she informed him softly. "I wish to leave. Please tell me where my things are."

"Do you wish to know why I tried to kill you?"

She studied him intently. Himura looked back at her with those sad lavender eyes, a hint of hope swirling in there depths. After a moment, she nodded once.

"Then you must stay with me, kabu. Don't leave; I have much I wish to tell you. Come; there is a room next to mine that you may use."

And he turned and walked away, again; only this time, Midori followed.

* * *

Introductions the next day were extremely awkward.

The dojo, Midori discovered, had only one student; Yahiko Miojin was the little boy she had seen the day before, and he was a handful. Twelve years old, bursting with self-pride, and always insulting his sensei.

The sensei in question happened to be Kaoru Kamiya, the girl who was blatantly terrified of Midori. She rarely spoke to Midori, instead throwing herself into insult matches with her student. Midori had to give her credit; she was damn good at making up rude names to call the little boy.

She had been formally introduced to the two over breakfast that morning, and it was an experience she was not likely to forget.

"Kaoru-dono, Yahiko-chan, this one wishes to introduce his friend, Midori-dono. She will be staying with us for a time, that she will," Kenshin had said as they all sat down. Sanosuke Sagara had been there as well, but Kenshin was already aware that Midori had been introduced to Sanosuke before.

"So is that a real _katana_?" Yahiko had immediately blurted out, ogling at Midori like she had grown two extra heads. Midori simply nodded, her eyes on the low table.

"You shouldn't be carrying one of those," Kaoru had snapped, annoyance and superiority dripping from her voice. "It's against the laws of the Meji government. It's really very foolish of you to carry it."

Midori's hands had fisted in her lap, her eyes narrowing slightly in anger. Who did this _child_ think she was talking to?

"No one will ever take my _katana_ from me," she had replied, her voice almost inaudible, her green eyes still fixed on the table.

There had been a tense silence, in which Kenshin and his friend Sanosuke both grabbed the dishes of food closest to them and began filling everyone's bowls as fast as possible with looks of concentration on their faces.

"Well, I hope you're not thinking that you can stay here for free," Kaoru informed her rudely. "If you want to sleep and eat here, you'll have to learn to do your part. I have more than enough freeloaders as it is. If you can't even pay me then you're just going to have to work."

Everyone froze; Sanosuke actually dropped his chopsticks. Midori could fell Kenshin's eyes on her, but she ignored him. Reaching slowly into her right sleeve, she removed the heavy money pouch again and tugged open the drawstring pouch. Removing three gold coins, Midori closed the pouch and replaced it in her sleeve. Standing from the table and leaving her untouched food, Midori rounded the table until she stood by Kaoru. Bending slowly, she set the coins on the table by Kaoru's bowl, her hand lingering on it briefly.

"Understand now, Kaoru-dono," she murmured softly. "I will be as respectful to you as it is possible for me to be. However, if you continue to insult me in such a manner as you have done so far today, I will not be held responsible for my actions."

This being said, Midori straightened up, went to leave her blade in her new room, and decided that chopping wood would be an excellent way to do her part of the new chores. Kaoru Kamiya need never know that Midori sincerely wished that each and every piece of wood could have been Kaoru's ignorant face.

_If you took the time to read this, please take the time to review. Feedback is both welcome and needed._


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori was my idea._

* * *

_"So you are the one called Zetsumei Kurohyou."_

_She turns from the wash bucket where she is currently cleaning the blood from her hands. Her last mission proved to be rather…messy._

_Standing behind her is a boy no older than she is. He is short, barely taller than her; his hair is a brilliant crimson mass pulled high in the traditional tail. He wears a katana and wakizashi on his left hip; deep grey hakama; a deep blue gi; and black arm guards. His eyes watch her in return for her scrutiny – they are indigo flecked with gold, absolutely beautiful._

_She knows who he is. Everyone whispers about the Battousai – the red-headed demon of the Chosu's Ishin Shishi's assassins. Even his own allies are terrified of him; afraid to have anything to do with him or they might anger him and end up dead._

_Much the way they treat her – minus the avoidance of angering her with comments about the kind of man who would train a girl to fight and kill. _

_Normally, she would have simply ignored him and walked away from another potentially lust-driven circumstance. However, she finds that after six weeks alone with nothing but killing to look forward to, right now she wants to make a friend of sorts. Something to anchor her to herself; to keep her mind off what she is doing to bring about the fall of the current government._

_She grins._

_"I am Zetsumei Kurohyou. Please excuse me, but are you aware that your hair is almost exactly the same color of a deep carrot?" _

* * *

Midori sat on the edge of the porch, leaning against one of the support beams. She sat with her legs handing over the side of the porch, her bare feet scuffing the ground. Rolling her shoulders, she tried to force herself to relax.

_Just a nightmare, just a nightmare,_ she told herself over and over. She'd had that damn dream again. Midori could almost feel the rotted hands of her victims wrapping around her exposed skin. Her shoulder was throbbing in rhythm with her heartbeat, and she was still covered in a light sweat.

"I should just go sock Himura in the gut," she mused aloud, stretching her hands up above her and smiling at the stars. "It's his fault I have the freakin' dream anyway."

"I'll hold him down for ya if ya want," a voice behind her replied. She tensed, jerking her head around in surprise. Sanosuke Sagara was leaning on the wall of the dojo, almost directly behind her. She dropped her upraised arms, flushing slightly in embarrassment, before turning away from him and focusing on the sky again.

"That will not be necessary, Sanosuke," she murmured. "Let him sleep. May I ask why you are still awake at such a late hour?"

"Ya know missy, I've noticed that you have a habit of talking all proper-like with everybody around here except Kenshin," Sanosuke chuckled, moving to sit on the porch beside her. "I mean, you've been here for what? Three weeks? And ya still call me by my full name when I keep tellin' you to call me Sano. You still call the raccoon 'dono' even though she's been treatin' ya like a slave or worse. But you call Kenshin ninjin and you act pretty normal around him. Now you're sayin' somethin' about him givin' ya nightmares. I guess I'm just kinda lost."

"I apologize if the way I am offends you." What else could she say? Midori wasn't even sure herself why she acted differently towards her ninjin than she did to everyone else. She did know for a fact that it was only due to her own iron-hard self-discipline that she had yet to take one of those stupid wooden bokkens Kaoru Kamiya insisted on using and beat the living daylights out of the insufferable hag.

The kid was okay. Yahiko was relatively polite to Midori, mostly ignoring her except for the occasional question about what she had seen as she roamed Japan. He was really a very cute little kid, Midori admitted. So determined to become a master of this laughable Kamiya Kasshin style of swordsmanship Kaoru was teaching him. 'A sword is a tool to save people with?' This girl really was young if she could still be innocent enough to believe such ideological nonsense.

Sanosuke was keeping Midori thoroughly entertained whenever he was around. He would pick fights with Kaoru; tease Yahiko until the kid had a screaming fit; and even pester Himura about doing women's work, like the cooking and the laundry.

He had told her a little about himself in the meantime. Sanosuke Sagara was one of the only surviving members of the infamous Sekihoti; Midori remembered the groups' story quite well. From what Sanosuke had said, Midori concluded that he could have been no older than Yahiko was now at the time of the massacre of the only family the man had ever had. His last name of Sagara, he had said, was a lasting tribute to his beloved Captain Sagara of the Sekihoti, whom Sanosuke loved like a father.

While he did not go into great detail, Midori gathered that Himura had fought Sanosuke for one reason or another, and Sanosuke had lost by a landslide. Afterwards the two seemed to blossom into the best of friends practically overnight. Midori could see why her old friend liked him so much.

Kaoru, on the other hand…

Midori still could not figure out why the woman hated her so much. Midori had been nothing but polite to her since arriving at the dojo. She helped Himura with the meals; cleaned the floor; tended the yard and garden; even chopped all the wood that was needed; and _still_ the little wretch refused to back off. Aside from that, Kaoru was obsessed with Midori's sword. She stared at it for minutes on end whenever she was around it, as though afraid that it would attack her if she turned her back.

Midori had once asked Himura why Kaoru did not act that way about his sword. It was only then that Himura had actually unsheathed his weapon and shown her the blade. That had been one of the strangest things Midori had seen in a long time.

_"What's this thing called, ninjin?" she had asked. Midori had leaned close to the sword, intently studying the strange blade. It looked to be in perfect condition; aside from how the sharp end of the blade was facing the wrong way. The whole sword was practically backwards!_

_"It is called a reverse blade sword. It is impossible to kill with this blade, even for someone of our skills, kabu. That's why Kaoru-dono isn't worried about my sword."_

"Ya all right there, missy?"

Midori pulled herself out of her musings and smiled at Sanosuke. "Just thinking about Kaoru-dono, I suppose. Trying to figure out why she seems to wish she could drive my own sword through my stomach a few times."

Sanosuke laughed at that last comment. "She's scared of you, that's her problem."

Midori frowned, not liking that. She hadn't done a single thing to cause fear since arriving here! She'd been on her best behavior! "Why?"

Sanosuke shrugged. "You'd have to ask her; I've got no idea how her mind works."

"Will you two PLEASE SHUT UP!" a voice suddenly shrieked.

Midori leapt to her feet in shock as Sanosuke literally fell off the porch. The wall behind where they had been sitting slid open to reveal a very disgruntled looking Kaoru in her sleeping shirt.

Midori immediately bowed. "I am sorry, Kaoru-dono. I was not my intention to disturb your sleep."

"Well, you've managed to thoroughly disturb it! For Kami's sake, it's the middle of the night! Go to bed, you idiots!"

The wall slid shut on the insult.

Midori couldn't help but grimace at the now hidden woman, flushing slightly as Sanosuke laughed.

"Finally, a human reaction to the raccoon's name-callin'!" he chuckled, standing from his rather ignoble position on the ground. Still chuckling, he wished her good night before leaving her alone on the porch once again.

Scowling, Midori sat back down, getting comfortable against the support beam again. She knew from experience that she would get no sleep after having that damned nightmare. And Kaoru had just chased off her chance for a good long conversation.

She rolled her shoulders to relieve some of her tension, hissing in pain when her scar flared angrily at her. This night was not a good one for her, that was certain. She really didn't understand it; it wasn't even raining tonight. Why had she had the dream? Fisting her hands in her lap, Midori glared at the stars, angry at herself. It had been ten years, for Kami's sake! She had found Himura and he hadn't tried to kill her; he'd made her feel like she was wanted again. Why was she still having that stupid nightmare?

_Because he refuses to tell you why he tried to skewer you in the first place, that's why,_ a voice in her head snapped in response.

True enough; her ninjin had not yet volunteered to explain their last meeting to her yet. However, Midori hastened to remind herself that she had not had the courage to ask him, either. The memories still ate at her, anyway. He had been her best friend; he had promised to protect her; and then he'd tried to kill her!

Midori shuddered, remembering how he had slammed her to the porch; how he had violated her personal space. That wasn't her ninjin. The Himura she had known would never have done that to her. He knew her too well.

_"Tell me what happened, kabu." His voice is different. It doesn't sound like it usually does when he talks to her. It is deeper, almost gravelly, as it is when he talks to others in the Ishin Shishi. She can tell by this that he is furious._

_She tries hard to control her tremors. He is griping her arms from behind, pulling her against his chest when she tries to walk away. Midori has to bite her tongue hard to keep from begging him not to touch her. She has to fight not to vomit at the feel of yet another man's hands on her body._

_She can still feel the wetness running down her bruised legs. Blood soaks the front of her black gi, and while not all of it belongs to her, she has lost enough that she feels lightheaded. Midori suddenly remembers the looks on the other men's faces when she had stumbled into the dining area. Shock. Revulsion. Curiosity._

_Her best friend had caught her as she collapsed, and it is he who now holds her captive, demanding answers. None of the others would care much. She is just a woman; let her die. Katsura would care, she knows; her leader is a kindhearted man who is no doubt issuing orders that she not be disturbed as she is carried by her ninjin to a room in a different part of the headquarters._

_"Kabu. Answer me." His grip on her arms has tightened painfully, and she cannot repress a shudder. "What went wrong? Why were you gone for so many days? We thought you dead when you did not return from your assignment. What happened?"_

_"Ambush," she breathes, closing her eyes against the tears of humiliation that threaten to spill. "It was an ambush, Himura. Katsura-sama was misled. I was supposed to die."_

_For a moment, neither says a word. Then, "Tell me, kabu."_

_"The targets were not where they were supposed to be. I waited at the appointed spot for three hours before anyone even walked by. Finally I decided to track them down. I knew they were in the city and that there was a great likelihood that they would be heavily guarded. It took maybe another hour to locate their position. The two targets had confiscated an inn and had men on all four floors, spread out from room to room to make it harder for them to be found._

_"As soon as I entered the building I could tell something was wrong. The air felt evil. I couldn't shake the feelings that told me I would suffer there. I was shocked when two of the men who had come to Katsura-sama with the offer of the assignment met me in the hall of the fourth floor. They caught me off guard, ninjin. I was careless and they were able to overpower me, with quite a bit of help. The targets were setting us up from the start. I have become too well-known in some circles, it seems. They wanted me to know that I was not on the same level as they are."_

_Midori breaks off, choking down the tears, shaking in self-disgust and self-disappointment. Her friend shouldn't be touching her. She is nothing, lower than dirt now, and he should not sully himself with her, with what _they_ did to her. She tries to pull away but his hold does not relax._

_"Did they rape you, kabu?" She slumps against him then, defeated. She does not answer his question, but her silence is answer enough. He holds her to him as she finally allows the tears to fall. She is turned and held to him as she fists her hands in his gi and sobs quietly, her blood and the blood of the men she had killed staining the garment red._

_"They will die for this," he growls softly at one point. Midori does not tell him that she has already killed every last one of them. She does not confess to the demented pleasure that coursed through her veins as she buried her blade in their hated flesh. She merely cries into the chest of the only man she will ever allow herself to trust again._

Midori angrily wiped the tears from her cheeks, blinking furiously. Thank Kami she was alone, how embarrassing for Sanosuke or Himura to see her crying like this. She would not be weak. Weakness would get her in trouble; and trouble was the last thing she needed in her life.

Her entire body locked down in shock when two hands wrapped around her waist.

"Why are you crying, kabu?" a familiar, if gravelly voice whispered in her ear. Shit. Himura had woken up and was back to his Battousai personality. She had not seen him like this since her first day here. Midori tried to pull away from him, only to be held back by his iron grip.

"Tell me why you are crying now, kabu."

"Get your hands _off_ me, Battousai!" she snarled, seriously wishing at this point that she had a sword in her hands.

He obeyed. He released his hold and stepped back as Midori quickly moved away from him. She turned to find him staring at her, his eyes the predicted shade of gold. Kami, how she despised that color!

"I have told you not to call me that, kabu." His voice was so low she almost didn't hear it. "I have no intention of hurting you. There is no reason to be afraid of me. I want you to tell me why you are awake in the middle of the night and why you are crying. That's all."

"I don't want to tell you," she hissed. "If we're going to be having a conversation, it should be the one where you tell me why you tried to kill me. You tell me that, I'll tell you why I never get any sleep. And only if you stop looking at me like that! I hate that look in your eyes!"

Himura lowered his head, letting his long bangs hide his eyes from her. Midori remembered that this habit had always amused her during the Revolution; she had known it meant that she had succeeded in embarrassing the most feared man in Japan.

"I've always hated seeing you cry, Midori," he whispered, shocking her. Himura almost never used her given name.

"Well…well then maybe you shouldn't watch me so much!" she sputtered, her face tinged with a faint pink. "What are you doing up, anyway? Midnight stroll?"

He lifted his face again, revealing lavender orbs instead of gold, frowning slightly in confusion. "I thought I heard Kaoru-dono yelling. Did you hear it as well?"

Midori snorted, glad to have moved the focus of their conversation away from herself. "She was yelling at me and Sanosuke. We were talking and she wished for us to stop."

Glancing back at Kaoru's closed door, Midori felt the strangest urge to bust it down, simply for the entertainment of scaring Kaoru out of her wits. A small smile tugged the corners of her mouth up as she visualized the look on Kaoru Kamiya's face if she were to act on that particular urge.

"About what, kabu?"

"Hmmm?" Midori shifted her gaze back to her ninjin, thoughts still on Kaoru.

"What was it that you and Sanosuke were talking about in the middle of the night?" His voice had a very slight edge to it. Midori's eyes narrowed slightly at the question, wondering why he seemed so bothered.

"I think that I may have woken him up," she replied softly. "I had been unable to sleep and was sitting here on the porch, thinking aloud. He came to ask if I was all right. It was nothing of importance, Himura."

There was a long silence, during which Midori studied her friend, trying to read his eyes. They were slightly unfocused, fixed on a spot just over her left shoulder.

"Do you ever have nightmares, kabu?" he whispered finally, still with that far away, unfocused look in his eyes. "Do you ever wake from sleep, soaked in sweat; with the screams of those you slew still resounding in your ears? Does the weight of so much blood weigh you down like stones, so that you drag through the days as one who is in a daze would do?"

He was slowly moving towards her, as though in a trance, and Midori did not try to move away. Nor did she attempt to answer; she understood that what was required of her was her silence, and the use of her ears as Himura spoke.

"When you close your eyes at night, hoping to be claimed by sleep, do you ever see behind your closed lids the face of a particular victim? A certain nameless specter that haunts your unconsciousness; that shames you for the simple fact that you stole its life, yet cannot remember its name?"

They were now so close they were almost touching, his warm breath ghosting over her face with each word. His eyes moved from that unknown point behind her to focus on her face, and the depth of sadness that regarded her was unfathomable to Midori.

"Do you ever…" Midori began, voice raspy with emotion. She had to look away, to gaze once again at the stars above as she continued. "Do you ever dream of the bloody rain? Do you ever see blood on your hands when doing the laundry; do you ever watch as the soapy water runs red before your eyes? Do you scrub your hands more often and more vigorously than anyone else, trying to erase the ever-present stain of red coating your skin?"

He smiled sadly at her. "Sanosuke would have you believe that I am merely very feminine."

"They don't understand," Midori muttered, still gazing upwards. "No one ever understands."

Himura raised his arms slightly, hesitating. Very slowly he placed his arms around her, gently pulling her forwards until there was no longer any space between them. Midori stiffened slightly as he rested his head on her shoulder, sighing softly.

"I can understand kabu."

Midori stood frozen in his embrace for a long moment, unable to speak. She wanted so badly to wrap her arms around her old friend, to scream at him and cry into his shoulder as she demanded that he tell her why he had attempted to end her life. She wanted time to stop; she wanted this moment to last forever; she wanted this moment to have never begun.

She opened her mouth, not sure what she wanted to say, and then caught movement out of the corner of her eye. With all the force she could muster, Midori shoved Himura away just as a wooden sword swung downward, connecting perfectly with the scar that marked the center of her troubles.

Pain exploded from the mark, coursing through her body like fire.

_**"IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR A LITTLE SLEEP AROUND HERE?"**_

Kaoru Kamiya's shrill voice was the last thing Midori heard as her world went black.

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**A/N: As always, reviews are both needed and appreciated.**


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but the character Midori was completely my idea._

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The world reeks of blood.

_She is floating in a pool of some unknown substance, gazing up at what she assumes is the sky. Everything is red. Red is the only color that registers in her mind. She floats along, making no sound, staring up at a stained sky._

_"It's your fault, you know."_

_Midori turns her head to see that she is not alone. Other people float in the pool with her, in the scarlet liquid that dyes their clothing. One such person is a young man, looking straight at her with accusing eyes._

_"You killed me," he says, his voice angry. "You turned the earth red. You took away the colors of the world. It's your fault."_

_His piece said, the young man slowly sinks beneath the surface of the pool, disappearing from view as Midori is hailed by another unhappy voice._

_"This is all your fault," the old woman grumbles, lifting a red-soaked hand out of the pool to gesture at Midori. "You painted the ground with my blood. You flicked it across the sky with your blade. You killed me. It's your fault."_

_As she, too, vanishes under the liquid, which Midori knew with a horrifying certainty was blood, more voices call out to her, accusing her, cursing her._

_"You stained the world!" "You drenched the earth with our blood!" "You leeched the colors of life away!"_

_"It's your fault, Zetsumei Kurohyou. All of this is your fault!"_

With a jolt, Midori awoke. She lurched straight up from the surface on which she lay, ignoring the searing pain that lanced white-hot through her left shoulder, hand instantly searching for her katana. It was not there.

"Your blade is right here, kabu. Do not worry," said a familiar voice. Midori looked around to see Himura standing from his place near the door, his _sakabato_ on his hip and her _katana_ in his hands. He approached her slowly, as though not to frighten her, and sat down once again by the side of the futon she sat on. Midori frowned at him, aware that she was covered in a cold sweat.

"What happened, Himura?"she asked, reaching up to grasp her still throbbing shoulder. His eyes followed her hand, tightening slightly before coming to rest on her face. They were a sad shade of violet.

"Kaoru-dono struck you with one of her boken last night," he replied in a soft voice, holding out her _katana_. Midori took it, relishing the smooth texture of her well-oil sheath. "You fainted, and I carried you to my rooms so that I would be able to take care of you until you awoke. You have now done so, and I have a request to make of you, kabu."

Midori's grip on the weapon tightened slightly. "I'm not going to kill her. But if she hits me right there again, I might consider taking an arm off as repayment."

A quiet chuckle. "No, my friend, that's not what I want to ask you for."

She eyed him, slightly apprehensive. "Then what?"

"I want you to see a doctor."

Midori raised an eyebrow at him. "I assume that you are joking?"

"I'm very serious." And she cursed heatedly under her breath, because he made it quite clear from the tone of his voice that he would not take no for an answer. Midori despised doctors.

"Fine," she grumbled, getting out of the bed and striding to the door. "Let me change clothes and I'll go see a doctor. But I can guarantee that it will do no good, Himura. Some wounds cannot be healed with medicine."

She had opened the door as she said this, and walked out while still talking, her face turned to her friend. Therefore she was completely caught off guard when two strong arms were suddenly wrapping themselves around her body, pinning her arms to her sides and jerking her forward into a hard wall of flesh.

She never registered the jovial "Hey, missy, ya finally wake up?" or Himura's frantic "Sano, DON'T – ". Midori's world narrowed down until all it included was the two restraining arms and her own panicky fear. A psychotic voice screamed in her mind -

_Touchingtouchingtouching his hands on your body it is wrong you don't like it make it __**stop**__ make it __**stop**__ do it end it kill him kill him paint the world red carve his flesh like a statue who cares if it's murder he's just a man he's touching you like __**they did**__ he's the same they're all the same they __**fucked you**__ he'll __**fuck you**__ that's what he wants you have to do it you have to kill him __**NOW**__ you have to kill him __**NOW**__ before he does it before he __**RAPES YOU**__ do it __**NOW KILL HIM**__**NOW KILLHIMNOWBEFOREHEFUCKSYOU**__ – _

She was on the floor, facedown, and an unfamiliar weight was pinning her. In front of her, Sanosuke stood flabbergasted, staring at her with his mouth hanging open as if seeing her for the first time. Midori could hear the Kamiya woman shrieking somewhere behind her and the boy yelling for her to shut up. Her _katana_ was halfway out of its sheath, lying on the floor directly in front of her face.

Someone was kneeling on her back. Her arms had been wretched behind her and were twisted at a painful angle, held firmly by a large hand. Another hand was clamped down on the back of her neck, forcing her chin to press into the floor mats.

"Midori, calm down – "

_GETHIMOFF HE'S A MAN DON'T LISTEN TO HIM –_

"—Sanosuke did not mean anything, he did not know any better –"

_IT DOESN'T MATTER JUST KILL HIM KILL THEM BOTH YOU CAN'T TRUST THEM – _

"Midori, _listen to me_! Kabu!"

The screaming in her head died instantly. She froze, suddenly realizing the position she was in, and could not help the small tremor that ran through her body. Midori blinked several times, trying to clear her suddenly hazy vision, only to stop in shock as tears began streaming down her face. She was actually _crying…_

She shifted, wanting to get up, to get away; but the hold on her arms and neck tightened painfully, reminding her that she was not free to go anywhere.

"Get off me, Himura," Midori rasped, trying to speak around the large lump that was steadily growing in her throat. She wanted to get out of here before she broke down completely. She would not cry in front of Sanosuke; she refused to cry in front of the little boy and that horrid Kamiya bitch.

"Sano, please take Kaoru-dono and Yahiko-chan outside. This one and Midori-dono will be fine, that they will." He was acting again, using that horribly silly style of talking he had apparently adopted around these people. He did not loosen his hold on her neck or her arms, and Midori buried her face in the floor, humiliated.

"They're gone, kabu," Himura murmured a few minutes later, shifting around until he could pull her trembling body into his lap. She tried to lean away from him, but Himura was having none of that. One arm positioned itself around her waist, the other around her shoulders, and Midori found herself cradled in his hard lap. Her trembling intensified as the weight of what had just occurred crashed down on her.

"Sanosuke…" she whispered, her voice weak with shock.

"Sano is fine," Himura murmured, pressing her head firmly into the crook of his neck and shoulder. "I tackled you before you could draw your blade. He may be slightly bruised from where you threw him to the ground, but bruises are easily healed."

She could have killed him. She _would_ have killed him, without even knowing what she was doing. If Himura had not been there, her new friend Sanosuke Sagara would be a bleeding corpse in the halls of this dojo. Because of her.

Midori had attacked a friend. She had attempted to use her own unique style of swordsmanship on someone who counted her as a friend. _Again._ And he was only alive because her would-be assassin Kenshin Himura had intervened at the right moment. _Again._

"Let me go," she gasped, struggling once again to evade his grasp. "I said let go, Himura, I'm leaving. I can't stay here right now, I-I-I need to leave before I hurt someone. I'll go see your doctor, or go get groceries; I will do whatever you ask me to do, just _please let me get out of this dojo._"

She managed to wriggle out of his arms and stumbled to her feet, still shaking. Midori bent to retrieve her _katana_ and froze when she felt a hand on her elbow.

"Perhaps it would be best if you left that here, kabu."

She tensed, forcing down the feeling of rage and fear at the thought of being unarmed and vulnerable in the streets of an unfamiliar city. Slowly, Midori shook off the restraining hand and extended her now free arm to grasp the sheath. Tilting it so that the half-bare blade slid home with an audible _snap_, she donned the weapon as she had for years, shrugging into the cord connected to the sheath so that the katana rested crossways on her muscular back.

"Kabu…" Himura trailed off, shaking his head slightly before turning away from her and heading for the sliding door that separated the rooms of the dojo from the outside world. Midori quickly followed, very much wanting to leave the place as fast as possible.

They were stopped in the courtyard by a shrill voice.

"Kenshin! Where are you going?"

Midori felt a muscle twitch in her jaw. She did not want to deal with Kamiya now. Her insides were still boiling that the little twit had actually struck her the night before, and Midori had neither the desire or, at the moment, the control, to paste on a polite façade and not lose her temper in the face of the girls' rudeness.

"This one and Midori-dono are going out for some fresh air, Kaoru-dono, that we are," Himura replied cheerfully, turning to address the woman. Midori ground her teeth together at the added honorific he was using with her name. She had never been a 'miss' to him before, and she did not like the change.

"Well, I'm coming with you!"

Midori's blood boiled with horror at the thought of being stuck in a city with that woman following her around. She gave Himura a look that plainly conveyed that she was _not_ happy with that idea. _At all._

"But, Kaoru-dono –" Himura protested weakly.

"No buts Kenshin," Kamiya interrupted firmly, flouncing over to join them and latching herself onto Himura's arm; Midori felt a vein in her forehead twitch in annoyance. "I'm not letting you walk around alone with this psycho. What if she attacks you too?" Here she shot Midori a look that was clearly supposed to be intimidating.

"Midori-dono would –"

"Don't call me that, Himura," she spat, turning her gaze away and glaring daggers at the dojo gates.

"He shouldn't call you that!" Kamiya snapped. "He should be calling you a _monster_!"

In an instant Midori's hand had shot out and fisted in the material of Kamiya's training gi, jerking the girl forward until their noses were almost touching. The girl squealed in shock and indignation, but Midori ignored her. She glared fiercely at her captive, who shrank back as far as she was able.

"Kaoru-dono," she hissed, repressing the urge to shake the little brat until her teeth rattled. "I will tell you this one time, and one time only. _I would never hurt Kenshin Himura._ He is the only friend I have ever had, the only family I have ever known. I would lay down my life for him. I would offer my very _soul_ for him. I have ignored the insults to my honor that have been my constant companion since the day I entered your dojo, and I will continue to do so until I leave. However, I will warn you now that if you _ever dare_ imply that I would take up arms against Kenshin Himura, I will give you a taste of why I am called Zetsumei Kurohyou."

She thrust the girl away from her, not caring in the least if the little hag stumbled, and turned on her heel, stalking out the gates.

* * *

Midori inhaled deeply, relishing the fresh scent of the river before her. No matter what city she found herself in, Midori invariably felt suffocated by the stench that naturally lingered in the air of such places.

She was somewhat surprised that Himura had not chased her when she had stormed out of the dojo. No doubt he had stayed behind to calm Kamiya. Midori snorted at that; he'd need the help of the gods for that particular feat.

She pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on the soft fabric of her _hakama. _Midori gazed out at the river, watching the water pass her by, and wishing that she could go with it. She was fed up with Kaoru Kamiya and sick of this city. She wished for nothing more than to pack her belongings and once again take to the road.

But she could not do as she wished; not yet. Not until Himura told her what she wanted to know.

Her gut clenched and she tensed, her senses suddenly kicking themselves into high alert. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood on end; someone was watching her. Slowly she unfolded herself and stood up, not looking around. Her sword arm hung by her waist; the other hand fingered the thin cord that crossed the front of her body, holding her weapon in place.

"Come out," Midori called, letting the slightest edge creep its' way into her voice. "I know when I am being watched. It would not be in your best interest to hide or run; I am having a _very_ bad day."

"Okay, okay, just don't tackle me again, missy," a cocky voice was quick to reply. Midori turned in slight surprise to see Sanosuke Sagara emerge from behind a tree some twenty meters behind her, his face split with a wide grin.

"Sanosuke," Midori addressed him somewhat warily, "why have you followed me here?"

"Well, Kenshin's been put under a very temporary house arrest, but he was worried about you; so I said I'd come find ya," Sanosuke explained, strolling over to her with his hands in his pockets. "Figured it'd give me a chance to apologize for jumping on ya this morning."

Midori's face flamed red in embarrassment. She averted her gaze from the tall brunette and muttered, "I . . . I am sorry, Sanosuke. I did not mean to attack you as I did. I did not realize what I was doing. I just. . . . Please understand that I do not like being touched, by anyone for any reason. It is nothing personal, it is only…" She floundered around for a plausible excuse.

"Hey, no sweat Midori-san," Sanosuke drawled easily; Midori looked back at him to see him grinning roguishly at her. "Now I can tell the Foxlady that she ain't the only one that likes to tackle me."

The color, which had receded from Midori's cheeks, returned full force as she caught the double meaning behind Sanosuke's words. She glared at him fiercely, and he had the good grace – or perhaps a good sense of self-preservation – to look abashed.

"Be assured that what you are implying would never, ever come to pass," she replied frostily. Sanosuke pouted cutely at her.

"Not even if I got ya drunk?" He failed miserably to sound honestly hopeful. Midori snorted, grinning at him.

"I'm sorry, Sanosuke, but as far as I know, a rooster cannot keep up with a panther," she cooed, dropping her voice an octave so that it came out low and sultry. Sanosuke looked shell shocked, and Midori couldn't hold back the laughter.

"What the hell was that?!" he gasped, making her laugh even harder. "You made your voice - and you sounded – are you sure you ain't ever met the Foxlady? That was just fuckin' weird, Midori-san. Please Kami don't do that again! That was seriously – hey, are you laughin' at me?!"

Midori smirked, struggling valiantly to suppress the giggles bubbling in her throat. Sanosuke had gone from looking shocked to looking awed.

"Well, whadda ya know," he drawled in mock reverence, "she knows howda laugh."

They shared a long, semi-serious look before they both burst into a fit of snickering.

"So what'd ya mean about a panther, Midori-san?" Sanosuke asked, once they had finally calmed down. Midori's smile slipped away, and she turned again to gaze at the passing river.

"Has Himura not told you about me?" she whispered, slightly hurt. Midori had dwelt on her memories of her friend and would-be assassin for ten solid years; had he truly forgotten her so easily?

"Kenshin doesn't really talk about his past all that much, Midori-san," Sanosuke informed her quietly. "I honestly don't know shit about him before he showed up in Tokyo and saved Jou-chan from some asshole pretending to be the Battousai; Yahiko from a yakuza crime boss; and me from myself. Hell, none of us really know anything about Kenshin. We've only been a group of friends for about five or six months."

Midori stared at him, confusion welling in her mind. "He has not lived in Tokyo for the last ten years? What did he do after the Revolution?"

Sanosuke looked just as confused as Midori felt. "He was a rurouni, a wanderer. Says he's been all over Japan. He told us that wandering was his way of atoning for all the people he killed back in the day when he was Battousia the Manslayer."

For a moment Midori thought she might choke. Clenching her fists, she turned away from Sanosuke, fighting back the tears; fighting for composure. Sanosuke said nothing as she pulled herself together.

"We are the same," she whispered, still not looking at her companion. "We are so much the same that it frightens me. How can this be true? How can two people so different be so similar at the same time?"

"Uh. . . Midori-san?" Sanosuke began rather uneasily. "How exactly do you even know Kenshin? And, while we're on the subject, what the hell's the deal with him callin' you the Death Panther when you showed up? And how come you keep callin' him carrot?"

For a long time Midori did not reply. At last, she turned her catlike green eyes to gaze directly into his, and answered:

"That was the name I was giving by our enemies during the Revolution, when I slaughtered the Shogunate forces by Himura's side. Zetsumei Kurohyou: Death Panther of the Inshin Shishi. I died by assassination over ten years ago. The one who killed me, according to the Inshin Shishi's records . . . was Kenshin Himura, the Battousai."

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_**A/N: I need reviews! Please take the necessary two seconds to review. Next time I'll have both Midori and Kenshin telling some really important stories, like how they met, why Midori hates physical contact, and what happened the night Midori "died". REVIEW NOW!!!**_


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_Disclaimer: As always, I don't own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori is my character/idea._

_Just a side-note/warning, since Tomas the Betrayer keeps asking and since it would work well with my story, Kaoru's going to get her ass handed to her on the end of Midori's sword as some point in the chapter. This is for all those people who have a burning desire for me to make Kaoru bleed._

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"Sanosuke! Oh, thank Kami you're alright! _**WHERE WERE YOU, YOU STUPID, ROOSTER-HEADED IDIOT?!?!"**_

Midori suppressed a sigh, the shrill tones of Kaoru Kamiya drilling into her eardrums unpleasantly. She hastily stepped to the side as what appeared to be a water bucket went flying past her head. Turning back, Midori had no time to react as she was walloped in the head with another of those infernal bokkens. Kaoru was on the handled end, looking furious.

"What were you doing to Sanosuke?" the girl demanded, branishing her glorified stick in Midori's slightly dazed face; for such a petite girl, Kamiya sure as hell packed some power in her attacks. Midori half wished that she had not allowed Sanosuke to convince her to return to the dojo for dinner.

"Why don't you calm the hell down, ya psychotic raccoon!" Sanosuke barked, jerking the bokken out of her hands. "Miss Midori didn't do shit to me, alright? We actually had a real nice – OUCH!! WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!?!"

For Kamiya had just driven her foot into Sanosuke's gut, using this new footing as leverage to yank the stolen bokken back out of Sanosuke's weakened grasp. Spinning around, the girl delivered another resounding hit to the side of Midori's face, sending her sprawling in the dirt of the dojo's courtyard.

"WHAT THE HELL'S THE MATTER WITH YOU, KAORU?!" Sanosuke bellowed, his face as red as his headband.

"SHE DESERVED IT, YOU STUPID ROOSTER!" Kamiya shrieked back, her own face almost maroon in color.

"SHE HASN'T DONE SHIT TO YOU, BRAT!"

"ARE YOU SO STUPID YOU DON'T REMEMBER HER ATTACKING YOU EARLIER? OR THREATENING TO KILL ME, YOU MORON?!"

"WELL MAYBE IF YA DIDN'T INSIST ON TREATIN' HER LIKE A SLAVE –"

"I FEED HER DON'T I? I LET HER SLEEP HERE, DON'T I?"

As the yelling match had been going on, Midori had sat up, lightly fingering the welt rising up on her throbbing cheek. She tasted blood in her mouth, and turning her head to the side, she spat a wad of the coppery liquid onto the ground. The sound of her spitting had apparently caught the attention of the two banshees, because when Midori looked up again, both where standing over her. She repressed the urge to flinch under their scrutiny and rose to her feet.

"You okay, Miss Midori?" Sanosuke sounded flustered, a deep frown on his usually cheerful face. Midori nodded slightly, her gaze skimming over the man to rest on the fuming girl, still clutching her bokken protectively.

"Where is Himura?" she asked, keeping her voice carefully flat.

"His _name_ is _Kenshin,_" Kamiya hissed, glaring at her with such dislike that Midori was vaguely sure if looks could kill, she would be six feet under by now. She ignored this, opting to repeat her question.

"Where is Himura?"

"His _name_ –"

"Kaoru-dono, I am well aware of Himura's first name," Midori interrupted quietly, looking the girl square in the eye. "As you may have noticed during the past several weeks, Himura does not use my first name unless talking about me to one of you, or unless he is very, very upset. In the same way, I do not address him as _Kenshin._ To me, he is simply Himura. Now, once again, Kaoru-dono: where is he?"

"Why do you care?" Kaoru spat. Midori traded a loaded glance with Sanosuke, who nodded encouragingly at her, before sighing.

"It is past time that the four of us had a discussion. Five of us," she corrected herself, "Yakiho-chan will not want to be left out."

"What discussion?"

Midori eyed the girl, wondering how much to say now.

"You hate me, Kaoru-dono," she said, her voice gentle. "You hate me, yet you know nothing about me. You do not know where I come from, who I am, what I am to Himura. You act as though you know Himura, but in reality, you know next to nothing about him. I know almost everything there is to know about Kenshin Himura; and in reverse, he knows almost everything there is to know about me. Now I believe it would be a reasonable it to tell you, Sanosuke, and Yahiko-chan a little about the both of us. Will you please tell me where we might find Himura?"

"Oh – well – he's in the . . . kitchen. . ." Kaoru murmured, her face tinged pink in what Midori guessed was embarrassment at her accurate statement. Midori dipped her head slightly in thanks before stepping around the girl and heading to the kitchen. She had barely walked three steps before she came to a sudden halt. Turning her head to glance over her shoulder, Midori nailed Kaoru Kamiya's feet into place with the death glare she was giving the girl.

"And Kaoru-dono, if it would not be too much of a burden, I would appreciate something to put on my cheek so that it does not bruise as badly."

She left the girl standing there and stalked to the kitchen, now having to try very hard to restrain her anger. Why, exactly, did Kaoru Kamiya seem to be possessed of a burning desire to brutally maim Midori very damn time they crossed paths? Midori could still taste the blood in her mouth, and the flavor was doing nothing to help her temper.

"Kabu?"

Midori looked up to see that she had stormed into the kitchen without even realizing it. Himura was standing there, several dishes of food in his arms, apparently about to take them to the dinner table. His wide, lavender colored eyes soothed her anger slightly.

"Himura," she replied, going to him and taking a few of the dishes from him. Walking out to the dining room, she placed the food on the table, and then turned to look at her friend, flinching slightly when she saw how close he suddenly was. His wide eyes darted to her cheek, and they narrowed dangerously. She quickly grabbed the last of the dishes out of his arms and spun around, hiding her face from him. Setting her dishes on the table, Midori sincerely hoped he would say nothing, hoped that he would –

"What is wrong with your cheek, kabu?" he asked, sounding concerned. She risked a quick glance at him and was somewhat relived to see that his eyes, though narrowed, remained lavender in color. She grinned wryly at him.

"Apparently Kaoru-dono likes to strike first and ask questions later," she told him, the grin slipping. "Sanosuke and I had barely made it through the dojo gates before she had struck me twice with that damned bokken of hers. Have you been giving her lessons, ninjin?"

"Why'd you call Kenshin a carrot?" a young voice piped from the doorway. Midori looked up to see Yahiko standing there with a confused expression on his face. Out of the corner of her eye Midori saw Himura's face flame red, and the grin was back on her face.

"It is just a nickname for Himura that is very important to me, Yahiko-chan," she explained, winking at the boy. "Please do not tease Himura about it, and please Kami do not tell Kaoru-dono. She may try to gut me, and I would then be forced to cut off that ponytail of hers and use it to strangle her very slowly."

Yahiko stared at her for so long that Midori half-wondered if he was angry that she had sort of insulted his master. That is, until he fell to the floor clutching his ribs, howling with hysterical laughter.

"What are you laughing at, Yahiko?" an annoyed voice demanded. Lifting her gaze from where the boy was currently banging his fists on the floor, still laughing hysterically, Midori couldn't help the glare that colored her face as she locked eyes with Kaoru again. Her cheek really did hurt quite badly, after all. The girl was holding what Midori assumed was a block of ice wrapped in a towel.

"Will you shut up and get out of the way, you annoying little hyena!?" Kaoru grouched, being careful to tread directly on Yahiko's back as she entered the dining room, causing the laughter to end in an outraged "Buso!"

"Better get up, squirt, she ain't in the best of moods," Sanosuke muttered, reaching down to haul Yahiko up by the back of his gi. Kaoru shot Sanosuke a look, and the man promptly shut his mouth and moved to take his customary seat at the table. Kaoru glared at Yahiko until the boy scrambled to sit as well, then thrust the wrapped ice into Midori's hands without looking at her and plopped down in her own place. Midori gracefully lowered herself to her designated spot, wincing slightly as she pressed the ice to her throbbing cheek.

The meal was quiet, with Yahiko and Sanosuke apparently trying to keep from angering Kaoru; Kaoru herself intent on ignoring Midori; and Himura alternating from discreetly glancing at Kaoru from behind his bangs, and not-so-discreetly shooting questioning looks at Midori, which were answered with small shakes of the head.

Finally, Kaoru slammed her bowl and chopsticks down on the table, making everyone jump in surprise. She shot to her feet and glared at Midori.

"I'm sick of this!" she practically snarled. "I want some answers! I want to know who the hell you are; why you're in Tokyo; and how soon you're going to stop pestering Kenshin and get out of my dojo! And why the _hell_ are you carrying that stupid sword?! You've been here over two weeks and haven't even done any practicing the whole time!"

Midori took a moment to mentally send up a small prayer of thanks that Kaoru had discarded her bokken before coming to dinner. If the look on the girl's face was anything to go by, the abscense of her favorite weapon was the only thing keeping Midori from possibly life-threatening injuries. She cast a glance a Himura, silently asking him if she could talk. At a slight nod, Midori turned back to Kaoru, feeling resigned.

"You may want to regain your seat, Kaoru-dono," she told the girl quietly, setting her own bowl and chopsticks down. "This will be a long story."

* * *

_The strangers were moving her again. The little girl had learned not to question them; learned that it was best to say nothing if she did not wish to have a beating bestowed upon her. These men are much crueler than her last set of masters. They like to hit her often; she is rarely fed, and the men sometimes look at her with a strange expression that always makes goose bumps pop up on her thin, bare arm._

_She has only been with this group of men for a few weeks; her last master's rich wife forced the man to sell her. The woman had always muttered something about 'demons' and 'un-human eyes', but all the little girl knew was that one day she was taken away from the servant quarters above the kitchen and made to walk behind these new men on their pretty black horses._

_This will be the sixth time that her masters have moved her to a new city. She is fairly sure they want to sell her again to make some money; other slaves traveling with them have been sold away until the little girl was alone with the men. No one has tried to buy her; people sometimes look at her like they are afraid of her, making signs to protect themselves from evil, whispering about her eyes. Cat's eyes; demon eyes._

_The men are hauling her onto another platform, forcing her to kneel before the large crowd that stares at her with interest. One of the men hisses for her to keep her head down, and she does, gazing fixedly at the planks before her._

"_Who will buy this girl?" one of the men shouts to the watching crowd. "She's got about seven years on her. She's skinny, but she ain't sick! She could be a model house servant; you could put her to work in the rice fields. We'll sell her cheap! Who will buy this girl?"_

"_I will."_

_The girl flinches in shock, starts to raise her head, and is hit hard from behind by a large male fist. She sways, biting her tongue to stop herself from crying out._

"_Told you to keep your head down, brat," someone hisses behind her. "What will you pay for her, good sir?"_

"_Let me see her face first."_

"_Ah, but sir-"_

"_I will see her face before she is bought by my money."_

_There are grumbles, but finally the little girls' head is jerked back. She finds herself staring at a hilt of leather; craning her thin neck, the girl looks up into black eyes that remind her of the sky at night. They are dark, yet they twinkle at her._

_The man is huge. The little girl thinks that he must be a giant, and wonders if he will buy her so that he may feast on her bones after he kills her. She finds that she does not care, and stares up at him defiantly. The big man smirks at her._

"_So you are the child with the eyes of a cat," he says, and his voice is like the thunder that keeps her up when the storms come. "Are you afraid of me, little girl?"_

_She shakes her head. The man laughs at her, reaching forward to place a hand on her black hair. She holds very still, not sure what the man is going to do; the hand in her hair moves down to her cheek as he crouches before her._

"_Do you have a name, little girl?"_

_Again, she shakes her head. The man's bearded face is so close to hers that she can smell the mint in his breath, the perfume on his collar. She ignores his mouth and his nose, looking straight into his black eyes. Calm; kind. This man is not cruel, like the last few masters she has had. This man is kind._

"_Will I be going with you?" she whispers, and the man smiles at her._

"_Do you wish to go with me?"_

_For a long moment the little girl does not answer. She thinks about all the masters she has had in her short life; about the beatings, the looks, the chores. None of her masters were nice men; none of them had ever smiled at her like she was a person. Maybe this master would be different._

"_What is your name, Master?" she asks him._

"_My name is Raiden Wakahisa. You may call me Myoushu or Shishou._

"_And I shall call you Midori; a fitting name for one with eyes such as yours."_

"Your masters' name was 'thunder god who is forever young?'"

Midori pulled herself out of her memories to return the look Yahiko was giving her. She smiled slightly.

"It was," she replied softly. "He told me later that his parents named him Raiden because on the night he was born, their home was in the center of a horrific thunderstorm. In later years I would tease him about the 'forever young' part and usually get smacked in the head with the closest blunt object."

"Man, that's such a goofy name," Yahiko giggled, settling back down in his spot so that Midori could continue her story.

_The slim eight-year-old tugs lightly on her master's hakama to get his attention. The huge man looks down at her from where he is polishing a rice bowl and smiles brightly._

"_Yes Midori, what is it?"_

"_Myoushu, it's that day!" the girl shrieks, jumping up and down in her excitement. Her master cocks an amused eyebrow at her._

"_And what day would you be talking about, you little monster?"_

"_Myoushu! No fair! You promised that you'd teach me once I'd been here for a whole year! And you bought me a year ago today!"_

_Raiden Wakashi plasters a confused look on his broad face and scratches his head._

"_Now wait a minute! I don't remember buying you last year, child. Last year around this time the only little girl I bought was the pretty, short, skinny, mute angel who hung on my every word. She was such a nice little girl, too. Actually, it's really too bad she's not around anymore; I was going to teach her how to use a sword someday. . ."_

_Raiden gets a good look at the expression on the child's face and laughs, the sound booming through the house like the thunder his namesake controls. His big hand shoots out to ruffle the long, beautifully thick black hair Midori is so proud of, dodging the retaliatory smack that is sent his way._

"_All right, little one, let's go then. . . " His voice trails off as he barrels out of the room and threw the front door, his young ward hot on his heels, giggling madly. He swells with satisfaction at the sound. It has taken him months to coax the child to speak to him; months to gain her trust and admiration. No longer does this girl flinch when he touches her; no longer do her eyes gaze emptily back at him. Now a light brighter than any he has ever seen seems to shine out of his ward, whom he freed immediately after her purchase. She has a fierce, bright spirit, his Midori; she is the perfect choice for his successor._

_Perhaps she will succeed where he has failed, and bestow a worthy name unto his technique. . . _

_Thirteen-year-old Midori leans over her master and wipes the blood from his chin with her dirty sleeve, tears pouring down her blood-smeared cheeks._

"_Myoushu," she whispers, caressing the now cold cheek of the only father she has ever known._

_She buries his mutilated carcass in his family's ancestral cemetery. Once she has smoothed the last of the dirt over his grave, she kneels before the mound that houses the person she loves most in the world and thinks._

_Her master, her beloved friend and father, has been murdered by the Shinsingumi. The entire country is in turmoil as the Shogunate forces and the Revolutionists wage war. Her master refused to be a part of this. Killing for peace is wrong, he had told her, and the Shogunates are corrupt. He had not agreed with either side, and had sought to remain neutral. Now he lyes cold beneath the earth. What should she do? Where should she go? Her home for the last six years is a smoldering ruin; the Shinsingumi took what they could carry and burned the rest. She is homeless, alone, and penniless._

_However…_

_Midori grips the sheath of her sword in her dirty, bloody hands. Myoushu is dead, but she is still alive. She is skilled with a blade; the movements of her master's beloved fighting technique are imprinted upon her very soul. Her master's murderers walk freely upon the earth that is stained with his blood; Midori's hands are stained with his blood._

_And they will all die for his suffering._

_Midori stands, looking one last time at the grave of her master, friend, and father._

"_I will avenge you, Myoushu," she whispers. "I will make the sky rain blood. I will honor your name and your life. I will find a name for your technique, as you wished for me to do. And I swear on my name, the name you gave me when you saved me from hell: I will avenge your death, even if it costs me my life._

_And with that Midori, master of the nameless technique, leaves the peace of her old life and begins the life of a manslayer._

* * *

Something wet was dripping down Midori's arm; it took her a moment to realize that the ice which Kaoru had supplied for her cheek was melted. The left sleeve of her _gi_ was soaked. It took another moment to register that tears were slowly making their way down her cheeks, mingling with the water. Midori shot to her feet, startling her audience.

"It grows late," she hastily explained, careful to keep her face downcast. She realized after she said this that she was correct; the sky outside the open shoji door behind Sanosuke is deep black, pitted with stars. "I will finish this story later. Goodnight, Kaoru-dono, Sanosuke, Yahiko-chan."

She practically ran from the room, aware of the golden-flecked indigo eyes that followed her. She could not address Himura; could not bring herself to face him right now. She needed air. She needed quiet in which to release the fresh grief welling in her chest, the unbearable ache filling her.

Midori vaulted the walls surrounding the dojo and ran through the deserted streets of Tokyo, her amazing speed unleashed tonight to put whatever distance she felt she wanted between herself and the four people for whom she was tearing open an old, painful wound. Though her master had been dead for the past thirteen years, talking about the day of his death was still extremely difficult for her. Even now she could remember clearly the smoky smell of her burning home; the way her master's face had looked so pale and frozen; the feel of the dirt of his grave imbedded in her nails.

She found herself sitting beside that same river from this morning, glinting softly now in the dark, the full moon reflecting enchantingly off its surface. She hugged her legs to her chest and buried her face in her knee. Her tears came faster now, bitter sobs racking her slim body as she wept for the father and master she missed so dearly.

If only he had not sent her to the market that day…if only she had returned sooner…Midori wept tears of guilt at the thought that had she been home, with her Myoushu, he would yet be alive today.

Without warning two warm, strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her gently into a hard male chest. Startled, Midori struggled to free herself, panicking until she heard the familiar voice whisper softly in her ear.

"It's alright, kabu. You are safe. I have you."

Midori could not muster her annoyance at being followed when she sought solitude. Instead, she collapsed back into Himura's warm chest, covered her face with her hands, and cried as she hadn't in years.

When the storm of sobs had at last debated to silent tears coursing down her cheeks, Himura's calloused fingers gently swept her heavy hair back from her moist face before his arms encircled her loosely once more. Her friend rested his chin on her shoulder, his still-indigo eyes gazing at the dark water before them.

"I am sorry that Kaoru-dono pushed you into this, kabu," he murmured, his voice vibrating from his chest through her back in a way that made her quell an involuntary tremor. She said nothing, now feeling slightly uncomfortable having him so close to her. Midori attempted to move away, only to have her efforts thwarted by Himura's strong arms.

"Ninjin," she muttered, tugging half-heartedly on his sleeve; it was only when he did not respond that Midori became aware that Himura's entire body was coiled tighter than a spring about to snap. Instantly she was on alert, wiping the tears from her face as her senses went on high alert. Someone was out there; she could feel it now. Someone was coming towards them from behind. Midori tensed, readying herself for a fight, but –

"KENSHIN! WHERE ARE YOU? KENSHIN NO BAKA!"

Midori felt Himura twitch slightly in what she could have sworn was fear before he sprang suddenly away from her, leaving her to fall backwards onto the grassy riverbank with an "umph."

"KENSHIN NO BAKA!" Kamiya Kaoru was now bearing down upon them, her somewhat pretty face twisted with rage. Midori almost had a stroke when the screech sounded from right behind her. She flipped over and hastily scrambled to her feet, her eyes warily watching the girl, who was predictably clutching a bokken.

Kaoru's blue eyes swept from Himura to Midori and back again, her face darkening with anger.

"So this is why she told us that crap story," she hissed at a terrified-looking Himura; Midori raised an eyebrow at the girl's use of a swear word. "She just wanted to lure you out here and make you feel sorry for her. I knew she was a whore."

At this, Midori's eyebrows both shot down in a deadly glare and Himura quickly attempted to intervene.

"Kaoru-dono, you should think about what you are saying –" he began, taking a step towards the girl, but he was immediately cut off.

"No! I'm right! All she wants is a free place to stay and a bunch of idiotic men like you and Sanosuke to feel sorry for her! She just wants to drain us dry of food before she asks one of you morons to sleep with her and then robs us blind and leaves! That's why she made up that sob-story about a dead teacher! It's just a lie, Kenshin! Her real master's probably just some perverted old drunken fool who got tired of using her as his whore and –"

Before either of the other two knew what she was doing; before Kaoru could finish her sentence or Himura could make a move to stop her; Midori had lunged at the girl in front of her, pulled back a fist, and punched her directly in the nose.

There was a small _crunch_ and a scream. Kamiya fell to the ground shrieking as Midori stood over her, hate coursing through her veins. Strong arms encircled her again as she made another lunge the huddled figure, jerking her away from the girl as she screamed like a demonic spirit and clutched her bleeding nose.

"HOW DARE YOU!" Midori shouted at the hysterical fool, fighting to free herself from Himura's restraining arms. "HOW DARE YOU SPEAK OF MY MYOUSHU IN SUCH A MANNER?! HOW DARE YOU BESMERCH HIS MEMORY?! HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE HIM OF SUCH FOULNESS?! YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT HIM, YOU BITCH! YOU KNOW NOTHING!"

"Kabu!" Himura yelled in her ear, struggling to keep his tight hold on her. "Kabu, NO! You must not fight Kaoru-dono, you must stop this now!"

"LET ME GO, HIMURA!" Midori screamed back, redoubling her efforts to escape. "LET GO OF ME! I'LL KILL HER! I'LL KILL THAT LITTLE BITCH FOR WHAT SHE SAID! HOW DARE SHE?!"

In a flash Midori found herself on the ground with her arms wrenched behind her back, Himura's knee pressing her down. She struggled furiously, wanting nothing more than to sink her blade into Kamiya Kaoru's flesh; to tear her limb from limb until the fucking bitch screamed for mercy. Her vision bled red with rage, and she bucked up against Himura's hold, her eyes fixed on the cowering girl before her.

Vaguely she registered Himura's hand sweeping her hair over one shoulder. Over the keening shrieks issuing from Kamiya's mouth, she barely made out his voice:

"I'm sorry, Midori."

White-hot pain lanced through her body, and for the second time in under two days, Midori's vision went black.


	8. Chapter 7

_**Chapter 7**_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori is my idea._

* * *

_. . . Her enemy crouches before her, uninhibited by the angry zombies beneath his feet. For a long moment the two stare at each other, cold amber and vibrant emerald, each taking a silent measure of the other. At last the red haired man stands, unsheathing his sword as he does so._

"_Reserve a place for me in hell, Death Panther." His voice, cold and emotionless, cuts through her soul as his blade cuts through her skin._

She jerked awake to the sounds of muffled arguing.

"I don't trust her, Sanosuke! I don't care what she says or what Kenshin thinks, this is my dojo and I don't like having her here!"

"Oh, come on, Jou-chan, she ain't that bad. Shit, she's practically made herself into your own little house slave with all the work she's been doing around here. You do realize that she's the only one around here 'sides Kenshin that can cook worth a damn, right? 'Side from that, Midori gave you enough money to feed a small town the first day she was here. You can't just kick her out."

"Sanosuke, that woman attacked me! She was going to kill me! For Kami's sake, she nearly killed you! She's dangerous, and I want her gone."

The voices, still arguing, moved away. Midori lay where she was, her eyes still shut, her body perfectly rigid. Without moving, she quickly assessed her injuries. The back of her head throbbed dully, as did her cheek where Kamiya had struck her with that damned bokken.

"I sent Yakiho-chan to fetch a doctor for you, kabu."

Midori heaved a slightly painful sigh, opening her eyes and wincing as she slowly sat up. Himura was sitting right beside the futon on which she lay, his indigo eyes watching her closely. She refused to meet his gaze, staring instead at her hands, clenched into tight fists on top of the blanket covering her from thighs downward.

"I hate doctors," she muttered rebelliously.

"Your injuries need to be tended to."

"I can do it myself. I patched you up often enough during the Revolution; you're still alive, aren't you?"

"Kabu," Himura gently murmured. "Please see this doctor. I will not leave you alone; I will stay right here with you while she examines you. You have nothing to be concerned about."

Midori eyed him suspiciously, warning bells chiming faintly in her mind. "Did you just say _she,_ Himura?"

He grinned at her. "Are you afraid of other women now, fearless kabu?"

"I'm merely wondering if she will also strike me every time I even think about glancing your way in a manner that merits her disapproval, most charming ninjin."

Himura shook his head, looking slightly uncomfortable with the topic. "Megumi-san does not react with physical violence like Kaoru-dono. I suppose…you could say that Megumi-san's bark is much worse than her bite."

"Is that so, Ken-san?" a woman's voice cooed dangerously, just before the door behind Himura slid open to reveal the speaker.

Midori eyed the woman warily. For she was indeed a woman; one look clearly showed that she was older than the Kamiya girl. She was taller, more refined; and there was a certain classic elegance in the way she held herself that Kaoru Kamiya most certainly did not possess. The only thing about this woman that even remotely resembled Kamiya was the decidedly evil glint in her dark eyes. Himura paled visibly.

"Megumi-san!" Himura squeaked; Midori jerked her head around to look at him in shock. _Did he just squeak?_

"You can apologize later, Ken-san," the woman replied flippantly, as though infamously ruthless killing machines frequently acted like scared children in her presence. "Right now it would seem I have a patient to tend to."

Midori repressed the urge to cringe as the woman turned her dark eyes in her direction, instead settling with a deep frown. The woman smiled at her.

"I apologize, I have yet to introduce myself," she said, her musical voice seeming to float around the room as she slid the shoji shut with an audible snap; Midori was wildly reminded of a prison cell door closing. "I am Takani Megumi. I am a friend of Ken-san's and an unwilling acquaintance of the Kamiya brat, the idiot rooster, and cute little Yahiko-chan. I am a skilled doctor and would be glad to tend to your injuries. Please tell me where you are hurt."

Still frowning, Midori reached up, intending to inspect the cause of the ache radiating from the back of her head. Her hand, however, was brought to an abrupt halt at chin-level by warm, sword-calloused fingers wrapping around her wrist.

"You should not touch it, kabu, that you should not," Himura murmured, his voice not as deep as it usually was when he spoke to her, and she knew before she glanced at him that his eyes were that pale lavender color she was still getting used to. Midori swallowed a retort on his annoying talking habits and nodded, looking pointedly at where his fingers were still lightly squeezing her wrist. Red suddenly stained his cheeks and he immediately let go, scooting away from her over the floor and looking everywhere but at her. Midori stared at him. What in Kami's name was wrong with him?

"Ah, so it's a head wound we're dealing with, is it?" Takani said, stepping towards Midori. Green eyes instantly snapped back to the doctor. "Might I ask if you were on the receiving end of one of the raccoon's clumsy bokken routines?"

Midori eyed her, unsure of the meaning behind her words; who was the raccoon? Thankfully, Himura seemed to have recovered enough from whatever had been incapacitating him moments earlier to explain, though indirectly.

"Megumi-san, you should not insult Kaoru-dono, that you shouldn't," he chastised gently, gazing at the doctor reproachfully.

Midori's eyes widened slightly as she remembered Sanosuke calling Kamiya a raccoon the night she had woken him with her nightmares. Now that she thought about it, Kamiya's facial structure did indeed greatly resemble a _tanuki_. How amusing.

"Kaoru-dono was not the assailant," she murmured, scowling slightly at her hands. "I . . . broke her nose; Himura thought it would be best to subdue me."

The air in the room instantly became thick with tension. Out of the corner of her eye, Midori could tell that Himura was studying her intently. The doctor, however, had moved behind Midori, presumably to inspect her wound, and her reaction to this statement was a mystery.

At least, it was until Midori felt white-hot pain suddenly knife through her skull. She hissed, clenching her hands into her dirty_ hakama _as tears pricked the back of her eyes. She fought them back along with the furious growl rising in her throat.

"That might sting a little," the doctor chose to inform her, innocence practically dripping from her voice; Midori was reminded of how much she loathed doctors as she fought against the urge to hurt something. "May I ask why you broke Kaoru-chan's nose?"

"She insulted the memory of someone I loved," she gritted out through clenched teeth.

"Oh, really?" Takani purred, whatever she was doing burning Midori's head like fire. "So you broke her nose when she made you remember being jilted by a lover?"

This time, Midori really did growl, and Himura immediately intervened.

"Megumi-san, please do not insult Midori by insinuating that she would be so petty," he requested, his voice quiet and serious. "Midori was not referring to a lover, as you must be aware. Kaoru-dono made a hurtful comment about Midori's late master, whom she looked at as a father. Midori had every right to be upset, that she did. This one merely stepped in to avoid any further injuries."

Midori eyed him resentfully. What the hell did he call her head wound, then? A love mark?

For a few moments, the room was quiet as the doctor continued to treat Midori's injury and Midori watched Himura fidget. To anyone else, the fact that Himura was fidgeting like a small child would probably not have been a cause for alarm. To Midori, however, who had known the man when he would sit still for hours on end without the slightest movement . . . it unnerved her. Where there any behavioral patterns that her ninjin had not changed since she had known him?

"I'm done, Midori-san," the doctor finally announced, coming back around Midori and examining her face. "The bruise on your face is already healing, so I don't think it will be necessary to treat it. Ken-san, Yahiko-chan mentioned a chest wound?"

Midori bristled immediately. She was _not_ taking off her _gi_ in front of this woman. Doctor or not, she didn't want to have to face the look of shock and revulsion she was sure to receive. Her skin was far from flawless. She shot a meaningful glare at Himura.

"It is nothing, Megumi-san," Himura quickly assured, standing from his place on the floor and gesturing to the door with a sword-calloused hand. "Thank you for your help. May this one walk you to the gates?"

Midori made no move to follow as Himura and the elegant doctor exited the room, Himura gently sliding the door shut behind him.

Fingering the waistband of her dirty_ hakama, _Midori decided that what she really needed right now was a bath.

* * *

_She drags herself through the streets, the blood-soaked gi clinging to her skin in a way that sickens her. Her body is wracked with bone-deep tremors; the knuckles of the fingers wrapped around her katana are stark white._

_She needs Himura. She just slaughtered forty men; forty men who have taken turns for the last two weeks in violating her again and again. Their blood now covers her. Its scent nauseates her. She needs her friend._

_She can still smell their lustful sweat. She still hears harsh grunts and the slapping noise of bare flesh hitting bare flesh. Her body aches from their cruel ministrations. Their blood drips from her clothes, her face, her hair . . . and she feels so filthy._

_She needs to get back to the Ishin Shishi now; she needs to see Himura, her friend, again soon; before she gives in to temptation and simply stops trying to stay alive._

_She needs to get this blood off of her body before she goes mad._

_"Halt."_

_Zetsumei Kurohyou lifts a weary head to find that she is surrounded. Her tired emerald eyes take in the twelve-man squad, the katanas raised threateningly, the familiar uniforms worn by her accosters; and all she can think is that she has killed enough men tonight._

_"State your name and business," the man directly in front of her demands. She does not reply, merely gazes at him with distant eyes that have seen too much. Already she has mapped out the most efficient way to kill all twelve of the men around her before even one of them has time to strike._

_She is fifteen years old, no longer a virgin, and these men will bring her kill count to three hundred and eleven people. She killed her first person barely a year ago._

_"You are of the Shinsingumi?" she asks, her voice so quiet she can barely hear it herself. Always, there is hatred in her heart for that group. She has not forgotten the sight of her Myoushu's mutilated body._

_"We will ask the questions, woman!" a young, annoyingly energetic voice from her left barks._

_She is probably younger than he is, and she is about to kill him._

_"Men. Stand down now."_

_This voice comes from a new arrival; approaching from in front of her, a boy no older than herself in that hated uniform, with another squad of her enemies. She looks at the boy, and thinks to herself that there is no such thing as a peaceful childhood anymore._

_"Okito-sama! We were just—"_

_"It is alright," the boy interrupts, slowly unsheathing his katana as he regards her with laughing eyes. "Master Saito would be very angry if we killed a woman, armed or not. Lower your weapons. We will let her pass. She is of no importance to us."_

_She has just butchered forty well-armed men in the space of ten minutes; she has killed over three hundred men in barely a year; her Myoushu was murdered by these men's comrades; and this boy says that she is of no importance._

_Zetsumei Kurohyou decapitates the man behind her and guts the energetic annoyance to her left before the others can do more than blink. The man to her right manages to raise his katana to chest level in time to block her before she stabs him in the heart. She pushes against him, breaking his hasty stance and making him stumble; he is dead on his feet before he can rectify his error._

_She jumps nimbly over the boy-leader, making quick work of the squad he brought with him. Wobbly now from blood loss and exhaustion, she turns back to the boy as the last man hits the ground._

_"I will let you pass," she mocks, her voice still extremely quiet. "You are of no importance."_

_She is gone before he can lunge at her; racing through the bloody streets of Kyoto, towards the friend who must keep her from going insane._

* * *

Midori closed her eyes tightly for a moment before opening them and casting a hesitant look over at the river. It sparkled back at her, still blood-red in color.

She had been sitting there for over an hour, gazing out over the river and thinking about the past. Himura had gone with Kamiya and Yahiko to the Akabeko that morning; Sanosuke was not there, and Midori had no desire to endure a meal with Kamiya if she could avoid it. It had been four days since their brutal encounter, and Midori had made it a point to stay as far away from her unwilling hostess as possible. This little river had become her refuge.

She wanted to be alone today anyway. Tomorrow was a day that she would never forget; a day that had changed her life, killed something inside her, and began her descent into legend.

Tomorrow was the fourteenth anniversary of her Myoushu's murder.

She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her chin on her knees. Midori glanced at the water again, knowing it would still be bloody in color. Water always bled red in the days before the anniversary. If it rained tomorrow, it would rain blood for her.

In truth, Midori had lost track of the days during her extended stay at the Kamiya Dojo. If she hadn't been doing the laundry with Himura yesterday, she would have probably remained ignorant. As is was, she had dunked a pair of Yahiko's green _hakama _into the wash bucket, pulled them out, and promptly dropped them back in with a shocked yelp.

Himura had immediately asked her what was wrong. Averting her eyes, she had shaken her head and tremulously helped him finish the rest of the laundry, shuddering inperceptively as she pulled each item out of the now bloody wash water. Later, she had snuck a look at the calendar that adorned a wall in the dojo. Her heart had dropped considerably as she confirmed her fear: only two days 'til _that _day.

Another year without her father; would the pain in her heart ever fade?

A twig snapped behind her and she was on her feet in the next instant, _katana_ drawn. Her narrowed eyes relaxed slightly as her mind registered Himura's familiar face, but before she could say a word, he was upon her.

One strong arm wrapped around her trim waist, while the other hand gripped the wrist of her sword-arm and forced it down to her side. She was about to give him an earful about touching her when Himura buried his face in her hair, pulling her into a close embrace. Midori froze.

"Kabu," he whispered, his warm breath fanning hotly over her forehead. "My kabu."

"What?" Midori demanded, uncomfortable and slightly unnerved. Was Himura _hugging_ her?

"Are you injured?" the redhead demanded suddenly, his hand releasing her wrist to prob gently at her body, apparently searching her for wounds.

"What are you doing?" Midori asked exasperatedly, planting her empty hand on his chest and extracting herself from his loosened embrace. "I am not injured, Himura, stop touching me. What happened?"

Himura sighed, rubbing his face hard with both hands. When he lowered them, Midori immediately noted the hard indigo of his eyes, the fierce set of his jaw. Himura was furious.

"Someone attacked Sanosuke while we were at the Akebeko. They were using a _katana_. Sano is unconscious, and when you were not there, I . . ."

"Who was it?" she interrupted, not wanting him to finish that sentence. Really, did her friend no longer have any faith in her ability to protect herself?

"They left behind an apothecary's tools."

A wave of icy coldness washed over Midori. "But that is . . ."

"It was a tactic employed by the Wolves of Mibu themselves: the Shinsingumi."

* * *

**This is more of a filler chapter than anything. I wanted to introduce Megumi and set up the plot for the next chapter. Review please.**


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin. However, Midori was completely my idea._

* * *

_"You did well today, Midori-san." The man's voice holds no amusement, no mockery. His statement is genuine. Midori bows her head._

_"Arigato, Katsura-sama."_

_"The man you executed was a very important official within the Shogunate hierarchy of power. His death will weaken them considerably."_

_Midori does not know how to reply to this, and so remains quiet. While she respects Katsura-sama greatly, her insides still burn with guilt at the thought of what her Myoushu would say if he were alive to see her using his technique to kill people that have not directly harmed her._

_"Midori-san." Her leader's voice is very gentle as he says her name. She raises her head to meet his eyes, caught slightly off-guard by the kindness she sees there. No judgment, no contempt, no lust. Just kindness._

_"Hai, Katsura-sama?"_

_"Have you spoken to anyone about your captivity?"_

_Midori tenses visibly. It has been three months since her two week torture-session. Her wounds have healed, leaving behind a very impressive set of scars. Her nightmares and fits of insomnia are less frequent. Every day she makes a conscious effort not to think about what was done to her._

_Eight gentle words, a careful question asked out of concern, have just ripped her wounds wide open once again. She clenches her hands into fists on her thighs, lowers her head again because she cannot bear to see the kindness and concern in the brown eyes of her leader with thoughts of _those men _dancing around in her head._

_"There is nothing to say, Katsura-sama."_

_They both know it is a lie; they both know that the words that need to be said are tearing a hole in Midori's soul. They both know that in the months following her captivity, her methods of killing have become unspeakably cruel. They both know that there was no need for her to cut off the fingers and toes of her last victim before gutting him and decapitating him. They both know that there was absolutely no need for her to play with his entrails before removing his head._

_They both know this, but Katsura does not call her on the lie._

_Later, when she is at the inn, she cannot help but stare in surprise at her ninjin's face when he comes back from an assignment with a gash in his cheek. She has never seen him injured before; the gash frightens her. She cannot help but notice that there are fresh shadows in his amber eyes. She cannot help but notice that these shadows seem to lighten when she comes to him with a bowl of warm water and a clean strip of cloth. She cannot help the strange achy tightness in her chest as she carefully bathes his wound, their bodies disturbingly close._

_She cannot restrain the urge to rest her head on his shoulder in a manner that should be inappropriate for any but a lover or a spouse._

_"If they take you from me, ninjin, I fear I will descend into madness. Do not ever even consider dying on me. The world would not survive my pain."_

_For a moment Himura does not reply. At last, with a heavy sigh, he wraps his arms tightly around Midori, his chin resting on her head._

_"I'm not going anywhere, kabu. I promise." _

* * *

With a broken-off end of a _katana _protruding from a bloody wound in his shoulder, it was safe to say that Sanosuke Sagara looked like shit.

Midori sat with her back to one of the dojo porch's support beams, legs stretched out and crossed in front of her, arms folded over her chest. Her gaze was fixed on the closed and bolted gates, but her ears were focused elsewhere.

Himura and the Kamiya girl had sent for the lady doctor who had tended Midori's head injury. She had immediately gone to Sanosuke's bedside, barking orders to Kamiya and the boy. Midori had retreated to the porch; Himura had gone straight to the training dojo, where they had found Sanosuke.

There was a large, body-shaped hole in the training dojo's outer wall.

She could hear whispers and snatches of conversation drifting out from Sanosuke's room, but the dojo was dead quiet. She wasn't really sure why he was in there; they both knew where that medicine chest had come from. It was an old tactic of those damned killers, the Shinsingumi: pretend to be a traveling apothecary to earn trust and then butcher the enemy.

There had been one left for her at the burned out ruins of her Myoushu's home.

What Midori wanted to know was why a member of a dead fighting force had suddenly shown up at the Kamiya dojo. Had word that the Battousai was housed here reached their ears? Had _she_ been their intended target? Guilt ate at her with that thought. She was fond of Sanosuke; he was a good man. Had her presence at this little dojo brought him to harm?

She felt as though she would implode at the thought of causing her new friend harm. There was so much adrenaline coursing through her blood; she felt like she could do acrobatics with all her excess energy.

_So train, my cute little baka, _a voice that sounded suspiciously like her Myoushu cackled in the back of her head. She used to smack him when he called her his _cute little baka_. He would laugh and call her _baka_ for the rest of the day, just to annoy her.

In seconds she was standing in the center of the courtyard; muscles relaxed; hands hanging at her side; eyes closed. She took a deep breath through her nostrils before letting it out through her mouth. In and out; in and out.

_The first thing that you must do is calm yourself to a state of near-meditation. Breathe deeply in through your nose, hold for a moment, and then exhale through your mouth. Relax your muscles and clear your mind of all thought._

After ten breaths, she sank gracefully to a semi-crouch, one leg stretched out to the side while the other was folded beneath her, supporting her weight. She extended the outstretched leg as far as it would go and held her position for the space of five breaths. She then switched legs and repeated the process.

_Your body is not made to be thrust into battle with no preparation. You must stretch your legs to loosen the muscles and prevent injury._

Shifting to a cross-legged position, Midori raised her arms high over her head, her fingers pointing to the heavens. Slowly, she bent her body forward at the waist until her chin rested on her crossed ankles and her outstretched hands brushed the ground. Uncrossing her legs, she swung them behind her so that she lay flat on her belly in the dirt for a moment before rocking forward and levering her body up with her hands. Ignoring the hair now in her face, she concentrated on keeping her upside-down body perfectly straight as she put all of her weight on one arm and slowly raised the other until it was perpendicular with her shoulder. Bending her elbow, she lowered her body until her nose was almost touching the ground before straightening the joint and pushing herself back up. She preformed fifty fast pushups with her left arm before reaching satisfaction and switching arms.

_A swordsman's arms are his greatest ally or his worst enemy. A swordsman should be able to carry his own body weight on each arm with ease; if his legs can carry the load, so too should his arms._

Dropping back to the earth, Midori stood for a long moment with her eyes closed. Concentrating on one particular sound, she matched her breaths with those of Sanosuke, asleep in the dojo. A part of her brain was relieved to note that he was breathing evenly. The rest of her mind focused on blocking out all other sounds until the only one her ears registered was that of Sanosuke breathing.

_A skilled swordsman should be able to block out all but the sounds that need to be registered. Focusing too intently on other things could lead to death._

Letting out a deep sigh, Midori ceased to breathe with the wounded man and broadened the focus of her hearing. Three other breathing patterns in Sanosuke's room; two were deep and even, one light and just slightly agitated. Clearly Kaoru and the boy had fallen asleep; the doctor-lady was apparently staying up to keep watch on her charge. The building creaked slightly as a strong breeze picked up; the water at the bottom of the dojo's well sloshed quietly. Himura was breathing in a perfectly normal rhythm, but she could tell by his elevated heart rate that he was just as full of adrenaline as she was.

_A swordsman should be able to identify their opponent in a crowd by nothing more than the sound of their breathing and heart beat._

Slowly, Midori reached up and pulled her _katana_ from its sheath. Opening her eyes, she set her hands into the familiar positions and began to move.

Himura had once told her that watching her train was like watching a dangerous, exotic dance. Her master's technique relied on graceful movement coupled with nearly undetectable speed. The _katas_ flowed seamlessly into each other, like the movements of the big cats as they hunted. And like a hunting cat, Midori in her mastery of her Myoushu's technique was deadly.

She knew he was watching her now as she worked her way through the _katas _in the dark courtyard; she had sensed his presence the moment he existed the dojo. She ignored him, focusing instead on her footwork as she completed a turn.

Neither said anything for a long time.

At last, when Midori had re-sheathed her blade and wiped the sweat from her brow, Himura approached her. She turned to him, a question on her face; he said nothing. For a long moment, they simply stared at one another, his eyes deep pools of indigo dotted with flashed of amber. Unnerved, Midori spoke first.

"_Nani_, Himura?"

"You should know that you are beautiful to me, _kabu_."

Her jaw wanted to hit the ground; where in the hell had _that_ come from? There was no time to ponder that mystery, however; between one breath and the next his arms were around her and his face was inches from hers. She stared up at him, shocked. What the hell…

"I would like to kiss you very badly, _kabu_."

Midori jerked in his arms, wide eyes filled with confusion and slight panic at the way he was acting. He had been acting strange for days now, collimating in his near-tackle of her person at the river this afternoon. Now he was speaking nonsense.

"Are you ill, Himura?" she inquired uneasily, attempting to bring up one hand to feel his forehead for a fever. He suddenly crushed her to his chest, both of her hands caught between their bodies.

"HIMURA!"

"I watched you," he whispered, his hot breath ghosting over the flesh of her face as he leaned closer. "I watched you as you trained tonight, _kabu_. I thought about Sanosuke, wondering if I was the intended target for the attack he suffered. Sano is one of my best friends, like a younger brother to me. I cannot put into words the guilt I feel over his current state. I am sure my presence in his life is at fault. I keep seeing Yahiko-chan in that room with a blade in his skin; Yakiho-chan, an innocent boy, hurt because of me. And Kaoru-dono, who has given me a home . . . who has been so kind to me. . ."

He hugged her even closer, and Midori could feel the blush staining her cheeks deepen.

"But those cannot compare to how I would feel if I caused you injury, _kabu_."

His voice was husky; he leaned down to once again bury his face in the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

Midori was pissed. She had had more than enough hugging from him today to last for quite a while, thank you. He might have developed compunctions about injuring her, but she was going to _maim_ him. As soon as she got out of his embrace.

"Let. Go," she snarled, wriggling in his grasp. Her body was oddly flushed; she felt hot all over. She told herself very firmly that it was from anger. "I'm going to castrate you, Himura! Let me go! You have a friend in there with a hole in his shoulder, a Shinsengumi apothecary's chest in the dojo, and you are standing out here _hugging_ me like we're lovers! Which we are not, nor will we ever be! Kami help me, Himura, if you don't let go of me _this instant, _I will repay you for this scar on my shoulder and --!"

Still struggling, Midori was unprepared when Himura's restrictive embrace suddenly vanished. She stumbled, only her god-like reflexes saving her from an indignant face-plant in the dirt. Whirling around, she shot a very angry glare at Himura, disregarding the full blown amber of his eyes.

"_Baka_ _yaro_!" she spat, slowly backing away from him. His eyes narrowing to slits, Himura stalked forward. "Stay away from me, Himura! Don't you dare touch me!"

"You still wish to know why I attempted to end your life?" he hissed, and Midori flinched; Himura was obviously furious, and Midori had never encountered his anger head-on, never had it directed at her. A small ball of fear coiled in her stomach.

"I tried to kill my best friend," Himura snarled, reaching out and grabbing her upper arms, pulling her up against his chest, "because I was ordered to. I was ordered to assassinate Zetsumi Kurohyou of the Ishin Shishi; my friend Midori; my _kabu_."

All the fight went out of her in one fell swoop. One moment she was using her hands to push against his shoulders, trying to free herself. The next instant she had sagged against him, her eyes wide and her lips parted in shock. The only things keeping her from falling to the ground in a heap were Himura's hands, still locked in an iron-hard grip on her arms. His face did not soften.

". . . Ordered?" she whispered. "You . . . attacked me on orders from our superiors?"

"Yes," Himura growled, giving her a short shake.

_. . . ordered to . . . my friend . . .assassinate Zetsumi Kurohyou . . . my kabu . . ._

". . . You bastard," Midori murmured, hands digging into Himura's shoulders as she gripped him. The cold ball of fear in her stomach vanished, to be slowly replaced by a raging inferno of furious anger. Yanking against his hold, she screamed into his face:

**"**_**YOU BASTARD!**_** I WOULD NEVER HAVE FOLLOWED SUCH AN ORDER! HOW **_**COULD**_** YOU?! WERE WE NOT FRIENDS? HAD WE NOT SAVED EACH OTHER'S LIVES COUNTLESS TIMES? DID ALL THOSE YEARS MEAN NOTHING TO YOU? **_**HOW COULD YOU, KENSHIN?!"**_

Her mouth snapped shut as his eyes widened.

She had done it. She had said his name.

_Fuck. Now I am in trouble._

Midori did not realize that she had stopped moving or that Himura's grip had slackened until his hands drifted up her arms, over her shoulder, and up her neck to cradle her face. She flinched, but he refused to let go. His eyes bore into hers as he leaned in closer, the tip of his nose barely brushing hers.

"What . . . did you say?"

"I – I just – I mean –" she stuttered, starting to feel a strange burning at the back of her eyes.

"You said my name," Himura breathed. She shook her head as frantically as possible with it being cushioned firmly between his hands.

"No –" The burning was now working its way around her eyes, and her vision was oddly blurry.

Himura leaned even closer to her, his strong lips brushing feather-light against her own quivering ones. "_Kabu . . ."_

_"NO!"_

With a burst of strength, Midori wretched herself away from him. Turning her back on those burning amber eyes, Midori sprinted to the dojo's perimeter walls and leapt over them, running full speed down the deserted streets of a moonlit Tokyo; leaving a trail of fallen tears as she went.

* * *

_When her Ninjin comes back from his time in hiding with the Yukishiro woman, Midori is stunned by the changes in him. There is a new distance in his eyes; a coldness that exceeds that which is present as Himura kills. The scar upon his cheek that was given him around a year ago is now dissected by another scar, forming a cross on his face._

_It is many weeks later that he finally speaks to her. It is many weeks later that she accosts him before he leaves for a battle, she for an assassination. It is many weeks later that she demands to know why he is avoiding her._

_He tells her of the Yukishiro woman's gentle manner, her kindness. He tells her of the peaceful life they led together, an apothecary who ran a farm and his beautiful wife. He tells her of drinking sake and, for the first time, not tasting blood as he does so._

_She asks about his face, about the new scar. He tells her of his wife's betrayal; his journey to reclaim her._

_He tells her about killing his own wife by accident._

_By this time she is holding him, his head in her lap, his arms wrapped around her as if for support. There are tears in his eyes that unnerve her._

_Midori has never seen Himura cry before._

_"Can I ask for a favor, kabu?"_

_"Anything."_

_". . . Please say my name."_

_". . . Nani?"_

_"I want to pretend that it is her," he whispers into her lap, eyes closed. She winces slightly, staring down at her friend. She has never used his name before._

_"It would be too intimate for me, Himura," she tells him, gently, not wanting to hurt him further. "You are very important to me. We are close friends; no man has known me as well as you do since the murder of my Myoushu. If I say your given name . . . it will feel wrong to me. It would be like . . . professing my love for you."_

_"Please." The word is whispered so softly Midori almost doesn't hear it. The pain in that one word makes her heart ache for him._

_Sighing, Midori wraps her hands in the soft, crimson mass of his hair, stroking his head tenderly as she tells him, "Only tonight, Ninjin. Then you will never hear me say it again, unless the sky collapses upon us or I fall in love with you; whichever comes first."_

_Slowly, bending at the waist, Midori places her lips at Himura's ear. The desired word, when it emerges, it quiet but heavy with emotion._

_"Kenshin."_

_She will not speak that name aloud again for twelve years._

* * *

_A/N: FOR THOSE WHO ARE READING MY STORY, PLEASE REVIEW. FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED. THE KENSHIN/SAITO FIGHT WILL BE NEXT CHAPTER, WHICH HOPEFULLY WILL BE WRITTEN SOON. BY THE WAY, WHEN SHE SAYS__ BAKA_ _YARO__, __THAT'S AN EXTREMELY OFFENSIVE THING TO SAY IN JAPAN. THANK YOU._


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but the character Midori is mine._

* * *

_"Myoushu!"_

_She watches in shock as the strange man lunges at her master. She watches as her master takes to the air to avoid the deadly thrust. She watches, her heart shattering, as the man abruptly changes his forward thrust to an upward thrust, impaling her master through the chest._

_She slices frantically through her own attackers, desperate to reach her Myoushu. Blood splatters on her face; a man's severed arm flies behind her. She pays no attention to any of it. Her body is protecting itself of its own accord._

_She finds herself standing over her Myoushu's body, her blade dripping blood into the scarlet puddle surrounding him. A man tries to grab her; she cuts off his head, shoving the corpse away from her master before it can collapse upon him. There is smoke lying heavy in the air; they have set fire to the house and stables. Myoushu's horses scream as they burn._

_"Your master is dead, slave," a cold voice breathes from behind her as she slowly falls to her knees at her teacher's side. She ignores the voice, reaching out the hand that is not holding her katana and taking her master's limp hand in her grasp._

_"He was executed for his indecisiveness and his cowardense. He refused to protect the Shogunate rule and was therefore deemed a traitor to Japan. We of the Shinsingumi know well how to deal with traitors."_

_Faint pressure is applied to her hand as her dying master squeezes gently._

_"Kawaii sukoshi baka," he rasps, a pained grin flittering across his face. A drop of water splashes on his closed eyelid, and Midori realizes that she is crying._

_"Noroi chuuko jin," she whispers, and then, more softly: "Otou-sama."_

_Raiden Wakahisa opens his black eyes to meet those of his Midori, whom he loves more than anything else in the world._

_"Do not weep for me, otome," he breathes. "Know that I am proud of you. Know that I love you more that life. Live long for me, and find happiness."_

_His eyes begin to close; Midori lifts his swiftly cooling hand and presses it to her bloodstained cheek._

_"Aishiteru_ _wa," she whimpers, planting a kiss to the frigid skin._

"_Aishi…teru…yo." And he quietly breathes his last._

_She clutches the corpse's icy hand, heedless of the men standing around her, heedless of the gaping slash across her back that is turning her white training gi deep red. She pays little attention as someone circles around her master's body and crouches across from her._

"_Look at me, girl," that same cold voice demands. Slowly she lifts her head to meet a pair of yellow eyes that regard her with smug justification._

"_These men will escort you to a safe location. You will not take your katana; if you attempt to fight you will be subdued. Do you understand?"_

"_What is your name?" Her voice sounds odd to her: empty, dead, like the body lain out before her._

_Those yellow eyes narrow. "Why do you ask such a question?"_

"_I want to know the name of the man who killed my master. I want to know who I will be seeking vengeance against."_

_He stands, sneering down at her as the men around her laugh cruelly. Without a word he turns, and leading maybe half the remaining men, begins to walk away._

"_What is your name, hitogoroshi?!" she calls after him, dropping the corpse's hand and springing to her feet. The men still around her visibly go tense._

_Without stopping or looking back, the man replys in a bored tone that sets Midori's senses on fire with anger._

"_Hajime Saito, leader of the third squad of the Shinsengumi."_

* * *

_Myoushu, would you be proud of me now? Would you love me now?_

Midori let the question float through her mind, knowing that she would never have an answer. Her Myoushu was dead. He had died fourteen years ago today; he was gone and would never come back.

And now her life was being turned upside down again.

Sitting on the banks of the river that had become her refuge, staring blankly at the as-yet bloody water, she felt hollow. Empty.

Betrayed.

_I tried to kill my best friend because I was ordered to._

That was it. The answer she had sought for ten long years. Himura had not been overcome by bloodlust; he had not gone crazy; he had not grown tired of her; it had not been some wild accident.

_I was ordered to assassinate Zetsumei Kurohyou of the Ishin Shishi; my friend Midori; my __kabu__._

Orders. He had turned his back on their friendship, put a blade through her chest, and left her to die on _orders._ Midori could not even bring herself to wonder exactly which of their many superiors wanted her dead; she had a big enough headache as it was.

She looked up from her knees, squinting to shield her eyes against the setting sun. She had been sitting here since dawn. She should go back. Running a tired hand over her face, Midori struggled to her feet. She would go back long enough to collect her satchel, and then she was leaving. She had what she sought.

She trudged wearily through the streets, ignoring all she passed. She felt ill; her chest ached strangely, her skin was feverish, and there was a disquieting ringing in her ears.

_Why did I say his name?_ The question has been circling in her mind for hours. Midori had only spoken Himura's name twice in their time as friends: last night, and twelve years ago as Himura sobbed into her lap.

_. . . unless the sky collapses upon us or I fall in love with you, whichever comes first._

"Fuck," she muttered. Why had she said his damned name? Obviously the sky was not falling down around her, but she didn't _love_ him. Truly. He had betrayed her! She had spent ten years suffering horrible pain in her shoulder and nightmares because of him. She didn't trust him like she once did. She did _not_ love him.

_Then why have you been avoiding him all day?_

She was not _avoiding_ him. She had just needed air. Midori was accustomed to going weeks without being around people; weeks without speaking a single word. As of today, she had been a guest at the Kamiya dojo for four weeks. She was simply unused to the presence of so many people after so many years alone. She had taken today for her own; that was all. She was _not _avoiding Himura.

_You cannot even convince yourself of that._

At the moment, Midori dearly wished that the small voice in the darker corners of her mind would just shut up.

_Stop running away from the truth. You love him. You, Midori, are in love with Kenshin Himura. You've been in love with him since that first time you said his name; since you were raped and he didn't shun you; since you declared that you would turn traitor rather that slay him. That's why it hurt so badly that he tried to kill you; that's why his betrayal stings so deeply._

"I. Do. NOT. Love Himura," she hissed, balling her hands into fists at her sides as she stomped down the road. The dojo was in sight now, and as she drew nearer, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Cautiously, Midori leapt the side walls instead of entering through the gate, and was somewhat surprised to see Himura and the Kamiya girl standing in the entryway to the training dojo. Kaoru looked somewhat uneasy while Himura looked tense and…furious. He was absolutely furious.

As she crept nearer the large hole Sanosuke had created in the training dojo's wall, Midori realized with a rush of adrenaline that there was someone else in the room. Yahiko-chan and…someone else. Someone…familiar. Who was it?

Himura was speaking, and the unknown presence – a man – was laughing.

". . .you never resorted to dirty tricks like these. You're no longer the man I acknowledged as a true warrior: _Hajime Saito, leader of the third squad of the Shinsingumi!"_

Midori stopped breathing; every cell in her body went into lockdown.

"The Shinsingumi?!" Kamiya exclaimed.

"Then this is the guy! The one who's after Kenshin!" Yahiko blurted out; his voice was disturbingly close to the voice of Saito.

Dark chuckles resounded in the dojo's tension-filled air, as the sound of a sheath clattering to the floor rang in Midori's ears.

"I was afraid that your sword had become rusty, but I didn't think that your _brain _would be this rusty as well."

A cold sweat broke out all over Midori's body at the sound of that voice. _His voice._

"'Akumatsu was a dog'? A weakling like him couldn't even begin to fill the role of a dog. We of the Shinsingumi know the strength of Battousai the Manslayer better than anyone else. However, you had trouble today, even against the likes of Akumatsu. Being a wanderer who doesn't kill has obviously made you weaker, Battousai."

_One who does not kill? _Midori thought, missing the words of Yahiko-chan and the Kamiya girl as this new piece of information was digested.

Himura's voice, when he spoke, was just a hair shy of lethal.

"As long as I have the strength of a wanderer to protect the people in my life, then that's good enough for me. I no longer need the strength of a manslayer, of a _murderer,_ that I do not."

_He must be pissed,_ Midori mused privately as she listened to Saito continue speaking, talking of battles she knew nothing of; _I haven't heard him refer to himself as 'this one' since I arrived. That must be some sort of record._

"What do you know?!" Yahiko-chan suddenly shouted. "Kenshin was there helping people, that's why no one got hurt and everything turned out all right! Kenshin was there to protect everyone, you creep!"

A snort followed this speech. "Is that so? Then what about Zanza, the fighter for hire? If I had wanted to I could have broken him immediately."

Midori's anger grew as Yahiko-chan exclaimed, "_You_ did that to Sanosuke?"

"The real Battousai would have seen that right away. As you said: ten years was enough for some people to become rotten. Drowning yourself in this false sense of justice; a wanderer that doesn't kill. How can Battousai the Manslayer protect people without slaying others? _Have you forgotten? Aku soku zan:_ slay evil immediately. That was the one truth about justice that we had in common. It's unbearable for me to see you standing there as the man you have become, Battousai!"

There was a pause; Midori instinctively tensed for an attack as she waited for Himura's reply. When it came, it was in a hard tone.

"It doesn't matter what you say to me. I have no intention of ever taking the life of another person ever again."

"I see." There was a definite smile in Saito's words. The sound of sock-clad feet sliding into position had Midori's heart racing. "Then I shall deny you your entire false existence."

Midori was panicking. What should she do? Protect Himura, or stay out of it?

"What's wrong, Battousai? Are you going to allow _her_ to feel my _Gatotsu _as well?" Saito was mocking him, the bastard; using the Kamiya woman's safety as a bargaining chip to force Himura to fight.

With one ear, she registered that Himura had taken a full step forward before stopping abruptly.

"You must not worry," he soothed, his voice suddenly a lot more gentle. "This one will be fine, Kaoru-dono, that he will."

Midori couldn't keep the scowl off her face as she listened to Himura reassure the girl. The girl murmured something very softly in return before Himura moved away. The two warriors slowly circled each other, as the sun sank fully behind the horizon and the dojo was bathed in darkness.

She knew what would happen as soon as Saito launched himself at Himura. She knew that Himura would go up to avoid the attack, using one of his own attacks from the air. She knew that Saito would then surprise him by changing the forward thrusting move into an upward thrust. Saito would skewer Himura, and Himura would be helpless to stop him.

Which is why she was across the room as fast as thought, leaping in front of and bashing into Himura in midair to move him out of the way so that she could take the blade for him.

The well cared for _katana _cut straight through skin, muscle, and bone to emerge from her back and lodge in Himura's shoulder with the sickening sound of metal against flesh. Despite the near blinding pain, Midori couldn't help but grin at the astounded look on the face of Hajime Saito, the man who had murdered her Myoushu fourteen years ago today.

Blood welled up in her throat, and it was with great pleasure that she spat a glob of it directly in Saito's face. The next moment she had been flung off the blade to land in an undignified head against the dojo walls.

"_Kabu_!" Himura was out from under her and by her side in an instant, a hand on her elbow to help her; scowling, she wretched her arm away from him and lurched to her feet unassisted. Looking down to inspect the damage, she could not control the slightly deranged giggles that burst from her mouth in a fountain of blood as she realized that her new wound was a mirror image of the scar she carried from Himura. _Ah, so the fates have a twisted sense of humor, do they?_

The wound, though serious enough that she would soon become light-headed if it was not treated, was not immediately life threatening. Unlike Himura's attack of ten years ago, this attack had not been meant to kill. Saito had not been aiming for any vital organs; he had simply wanted to wound Himura. Midori summarily dismissed it and reached up to yank her sheathed _katana_ off her back. Looking around for Saito, she allowed a demented grin to spread over her face as she locked her cat-like green eyes with his wolf-like yellow ones.

"Hajime Saito," she drawled. Her voice sounded wrong even to her: cold, raspy, deadly as a naked blade. "Wolf of Mibu; murdering bastard. How nice to see you again."

Saito said nothing; one hand rose to his face to wipe away her blood, and the sane part of Midori's brain registered that it was gloved. Saito was wearing a police uniform.

"What's wrong, wolf?" she taunted, slowly unsheathing her blade. "Cat got your tongue?"

Saito's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "You are Zetsumei Kurohyou; the Death Panther among the assassins of the Chosu clan's Ishin Shishi. It was reported that you were dead."

"I _am_ dead," she spat at him, flinging her sheath away and tightening her grip on the hilt of her katana. "And so shall you be, very soon."

Still grinning manically, she moved to go towards him.

_"Kabu, no!"_

"Get out of my way, Himura!" Midori snarled, leveling her blade at the redhead as he flashed between herself and Saito. Blood sprayed from her mouth as she spoke, staining the air before her crimson. Himura, she noted, seemed to be bleeding quite a bit from his own injury; it was much less severe than Midori's, but would still need to be tended soon. That was, of course, assuming Midori did not have to kill him to get a piece of Saito.

"_Kabu, _you cannot fight him! You are injured! Let me –"

"Your services are not required, _komori,"_ she hissed at him. "You will move. I will kill him. End of story. _Get out of my way."_

"Midori –"

Her arm connected solidly with Himura's face, taking him by surprise as it propelled him across the room. Before he could interfere again, Midori lunged at Saito, blade poised to strike his midriff. He in turn lifted his own blade, blocking Midori's attack. He bore down hard, using his superior height and weight to force her back. She leapt away agilely, landing in a defensive crouch on the dojo floor. Her eyes scanned her enemy's body.

_Look for the weak points. Attack those first._

_Neck._

She feinted to the left before springing to the right, her katana ready in her left hand. She cut upward towards the juncture where neck and shoulder connected. The clang of steel against steel rang in the dojo as Saito again blocked her attack, although this time less successfully: by angling her blade slightly, she was able to slice a deep, bloody line across Saito's shoulder as she again leapt away.

Saito did not seem overly concerned with the blood staining his uniform. Instead, he leveled a narrow-eyed gaze at Midori, a frown etched in his face.

"I am not here to fight ghosts," he sneered, even as he crouched in an offensive position. "My fight is with the Battousai, not his pet cat. However, if you continue to attack me, I will of course be forced to defend myself. Unless you wish to die more permanently, I would advise you to lower that blade."

"Such a pity we never crossed paths during the Bakumatsu, Saito," Midori hissed, ignoring his warning as she prowls in a loose circle around him; his eyes followed her every move. "I would have taken great pleasure in playing with you awhile before I killed you. However, these are more civilized times, and there are innocents present; so I suppose I will simply have to be content with piercing that black heart."

She stopped her pacing and crouched as well, her blade angled in front of her defensively. "Do your worst, wolf. I swore an oath of vengeance against you; perhaps today I will see it fulfilled."

She was prepared when he lunges at her; she was not prepared when a blur came between them, dropping down as though to sweep Saito's feet out from under him. Saito, it would seem, was waiting for this occurrence; a swift kick launched the blur towards Midori, who was pushed into the wall by it. A burning pain lanced through her newly injured shoulder, forcing a hiss through tightly clenched teeth.

She went to stand, only to be restrained by a bruising tight grip on her uninjured shoulder.

"Midori." The voice is rough, slightly unstable. Frustrated, she glanced over at Himura, about to demand that he release her at once. One look at his eyes froze the words in her mouth.

His eyes were deep indigo flecked with gold.

_Something is different with him_, Midori realized. _Something is wrong._

"Are you alright, Kenshin!?" the Kamiya girl rushed towards them, hands stretching out in front of her in her distress for Himura. "Kensh –"

She stopped abruptly, drawing her hands close to her heart. Midori, looking more fully into her face, noticed how pale she had suddenly grown. For a moment, Kaoru seemed to hesitate, not certain if she wished to advance.

_Must be the eyes_, Midori mused, returning her gaze to Himura. He, in turn, was glaring across the room at Saito; there was a look in his eyes that sent a new wave of adrenaline and anger surging through her blood.

_The damned bastard thinks to interfere in my fight!_

"Stand up," Saito snapped; it was unknown whether he addressed Himura or Midori. However, it was Kaoru that moved, rushing forward to plant herself in front of the two warriors; she braced her feet and threw her arms out to the sides, as if to shield them from Saito with her body.

"You're in the way," Saito informed her in a level, bored voice. It was clear that he did not find Kaoru Kamiya to be worth his time, even to kill. She had been judged by those cold yellow eyes and been deemed insignificant.

Midori jerked away from the quiet Himura and stood. Reaching forwards with her right hand, she gathered a fistful of Kaoru's pretty kimono, staining it with her blood in the process. She then yanked backward hard, pulling the girl back and slamming her into Himura, who had risen with Midori.

"Stay out of this, girl," she commanded coldly. "Your wooden sticks are useless here. Let the _komoroi _baby you while I give you more reasons to hate me."

She had turned back to Saito as she spoke, confident that Himura would move the girl out of harms' way and protect her. That should keep him occupied while Midori dispatched Saito. She blocked them both out, preparing to engage her opponent once more.

That, doubtlessly, is exactly why she was unprepared for the blade of Himura's _sakabato_ to make contact with the back of her neck.

Her consciousness left her before she hit the floor.

* * *

_"Kabu…my kabu…I'm sorry…"_

It was so dark; where was the light? Why had the light deserted her?

_"I know you must hate me…I wish I could make you understand. I wish you could know the feelings of my heart…don't leave me, kabu…please…stay with me…"_

How could she understand someone else's heart when her own was broken?

"_Koishii…"_

Midori fought against the darkness, fought to see the light that was hidden from her. Slowly, ever so slowly, she forced her eyes to open.

She was lying wrapped in blankets on a futon in a dimly lit room. Her entire body ached; she was shivering with the cold. No, that was wrong; it shouldn't be so cold. It was spring. Why was she cold? Why was she injured? Where was the voice that had whispered to her in the darkness?

"Come back…" she rasped, feeling as though her throat was ripping to pieces.

"Kabu?"

Turning her head even slightly was like self-inflicted torture. Blinking back uncharacteristic tears, she managed a weak "Himura?"

A warm hand was pressed lightly to her forehead; Himura's concerned face swam hazily into view, his scarlet tresses tickling Midori's cheeks. She tried to speak, but he shushed her gently.

"You have a fever, kabu. Do not strain yourself. Lay still."

"It's so cold, ninjin," she whimpered, and she didn't have the strength to stop the hot tears that boiled over her eyelids and cut wet trails down her cheeks. Gentle fingers wiped them away, a calloused thumb stroking circles into her cheek. "It hurts, ninjin. Everything hurts."

"I know, kabu," he murmured softly, his own eyes glassy. "I'm sorry. It will get better, I promise. Megumi-san is taking care of you. It will be alright."

She felt the blackness looming, felt her eyelids become heavy.

"Don't leave me alone," she whispered, the plea thick in her voice.

"I will never leave you, kabu. Rest now. I will stay with you; I promise."

Her eyes slid shut again, and she sank back into her nightmares.

* * *

_She is nude, tied to a support beam, in a dark room that stinks of sake. She doesn't know how long she's been here, or what became of her blades. Her katana and wakizashi have been forcibly removed from her person, as have her clothing._

_A shoji is thrown open in front of her, and she blinks quickly to force her eyes to adjust to the sudden light. Men carrying lanterns file into the room, lining the walls behind and to the side of her. Finally a man with empty hands steps into the room, closing the sliding door behind him with a snap. He grins sadistically at her._

_"Zetsumei Kurohyou," he sneers, advancing upon her position. "Are you prepared for tonight's entertainment?"_

_She doesn't answer; she never does. She wonders what the 'entertainment' will be tonight. She is glad that the man addressing her did not bring his whip: it is one used on slaves, with nine thick strips of leather to cut into a person's flesh, aided by the tiny glass shards sewn into the leather. Her back still screams in agony from her last session with the damned thing._

_Sometimes they simply beat her, assuring her that all she has to do is scream and they'll stop. She has yet to make a sound. Sometimes they take turns forcing themselves upon her, sweating and grunting against her prone body like animals, dirtying her insides with their essence. They tell her their names; demanding she call them out as they flood her, threatening retribution if she fails to do so._

_She bites her own tongue hard enough to draw blood; then waits until they have withdrawn from her before spitting bloody saliva in their faces._

_Only once have any of them forced her to her knees before them, commanding that she soil her mouth for his pleasure. She bit him; dismembered him; she later learned that he bled to death from the injury. No one has tried that particular trick again._

_Her captor slaps her across the face. "Answer me, woman!"_

_She bares her teeth at him in a fierce snarl._

_"This arrogance is why you are here, woman. It should not be the codename of a woman that is feared by our enemies! It should not be a woman who is allowed into Katsura-sama's presence! A woman should not be permitted to carry a blade as if she has a right to call herself samurai! You think to rise above your proper station? Then as men, we have a responsibility to remind you of your place."_

_Ah, yes. This is the real clincher of the entire ordeal: these men do not work under the Shoganute. They are members of the Chosu's regular army. Men who should be her allies are debasing her in this abandon hotel because they are jealous of her fame._

_As if she asked to be famous for the murder of hundreds, of thousands._

_Midori tenses as the man steps forward and places his hand on her cheek. An almost apologetic look comes to his eyes; he seems to struggle with his next words._

_"We are not bad people, woman. We do this for your own good. Some day you may thank us for this. Some day you will come to understand."_

_Slowly, almost reverently, he leans over her and presses his mouth to hers in a kiss. He deepens it instantly, forcing her mouth open so that he may explore with his tongue. When she does nothing, he brings a hand up to tangle in her dirty hair, wrapping the other arm around her sickly thin waist to pull her closer to him as he ravages her mouth._

_When his shoulders relax, Midori abruptly snaps her jaws shut, clamping down on his slimy tongue before the son of a bitch can retract it._

_He screams. He screams and flails and punches and kicks, but Midori refuses to release his tongue. When at last five of his companions rush forward and manage to pull him away from her, he lets out a high-pitched wail of agony as his tongue parts company with his mouth._

_Midori spits it, along with a mouthful of blood, at the now sobbing man's feet._

_For the first and only time during her captivity, Zetsumei Kurohyou speaks._

_"So that you will not again be tempted to spout such foul lies," she explains, a bloody, demented smirk blooming over her battered face as blows are rained down upon her by the man's companions; and the man himself slowly chokes to death in front of her, drowning in his own blood._

_Zetsumei Kurohyou's twisted laughter is the last thing he hears before he is claimed by the abyss. _

* * *

_Review and tell me what you think please. And yes, a lot of the dialogue is borrowed from the anime. Please see the disclaimer._


	11. Chapter 10

_Chapter 10_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori was my idea._

* * *

"_They told me Battousai's whore was lethal."_

_She jerks her blade free of her opponent's chest, watching dispassionately as the corpse crumbles to the ground at her feet. There is no need to flick his blood from her katana; the pouring rain has already washed it off. Setting her face into its normal emotionless mask, she faces the hazy outline of her new partner, who leans nonchalantly against a nearby building. He smirks unpleasantly at her._

"_What do you want?"_

"_No hello for your partner? Your fellow assassin?" he mocks, pushing off from the building and stalking towards her. Her grip on her katana tightens as she shifts her feet into a defensive position. Seeing this, he lets out a bark of cold laughter that sends chills crawling over her skin._

"_What do you want?"_

"_I want to talk. I want to get to know the deadly Zetsumei Kurohyou that everyone's so afraid of. If I'm going to be stuck working with a bitch, I want to know what kind of bitch." He circles her as he speaks, his insults seeming to come from all around her. His deep voice cuts through the pounding of the rain like a knife through butter; the arrogance and cruelty of it leave a bad taste in Midori's mouth._

_She has no intention of answering his questions. She does not care that he is Himura's replacement and that they are now the Ishin Shishi's two top assassins, partners of a sort. She will not make the mistake of lowering her guard around him or anyone else. Her captivity and torture have taught her that she can only trust three people in this cold, blood-soaked city: Himura, Katsura-sama, and herself._

_Disgusted with this insufferable man, she turns to leave. A hand clamps down on her elbow, yanking her back and flinging her against the wall as a hard body traps her there. Her blade, still in hand, is immediately aligned with his jugular as he leans in close; hot breath washes over her face._

"_Do you wish to die?" she asks him calmly; internally she is seething that this…bastard has the gall to touch her so. To hell with Katsura-sama's orders; if he doesn't get away from her very soon, his body will rot here with that of her recently deceased opponent._

"_I wish to talk," he reiterates with a cocky smirk._

"_It will be somewhat difficult to do so if I cut your throat."_

"_You walked away from me, woman."_

_She gives him a dry look at that one. "You are not my lord or master or friend. I am under no obligation to be questioned by you. Unhand me or I will kill you now."_

_He grins at her, leaning even closer. Her blade does not falter, and dark red blood wells up on its edge as she cuts him. He seems unfazed by this, positioning his mouth by her ear._

"_I like you," he whispers, his moist breath tickling her sensitive ear. "You don't take shit from anyone. You don't conform to their ideas of a weak woman, that's why they're all afraid of you. They're just ants; the weak waiting to be crushed by the strong."_

_The hand not holding her katana to his throat goes to the hilt of her sheathed wakizashi. One upward jerk and the hilt is buried in his stomach, forcing him away from her. Driving the short sword home, she keeps a tight grip on her katana as she again turns her back on him._

"_My name is Makoto Shishio."_

_She stops, but does not turn to face him._

"_What is your name, woman? Or would you rather I continue to address you as Battousai's whore?"_

_Her hand clenches around the hilt of her katana until her knuckles are white and the leather is screaming from the strain. Slowly, she turns her head to regard him, one-eyed, over her shoulder._

"_My name is Zetsumei Kurohyou. That is the only name you have earned the right to know."_

_His deranged laughter follows her retreating figure through the rainy streets, chilling her deeper than the cold night air could ever penetrate._

* * *

Hands were touching her, and Midori fought to get away from them –

"Hold her down, Ken-san! I have to put this paste on the wound to draw out the infection, and you need to keep her still!"

_Hold her down, boys. You'll get your turns with her later; right now she's mine. Hold her still._

"Kaoru-chan, get me fresh water immediately! Keep Yahiko-chan and the rooster away from here!"

"Alright!"

_Douse the bitch, Ibiki. No sense having to smell her while we entertain ourselves. Keep the boys back until she's a little cleaner; we wouldn't want any of 'em to retch._

Pain lanced through her right shoulder, and she struck out at her tormentors, only to have her wrist crushed in a bruising grip.

_Think you can hit your masters, bitch? Chain her up, boys. Now we won't have to watch those pretty little hands._

"Ken-san, please help me remove her _gi_ and those bandages. I need to be able to see better. Be careful of her shoulder! Gently…"

_Get those rags off her, Jounoichi-san. Not like she needs 'em. Well, cut her if she hits you, you fucking idiot! Nobody said you have to be nice to the bitch!_

"Open her mouth for me, Ken-san. This should calm her down."

_Hold her mouth open. Get ready, whore. Put that sweet mouth to good use._

Her eyes shot open and she flailed against her captor, knocking someone away from her as she kicked and writhed. A man's voice was speaking above her; a woman's was shouting to her left; hands were trying to restrain her as the ceiling seemed to spin. With supreme effort, she tore herself away from the hands and crouched, barely a second later, in a dark corner on the other side of the room.

Voices were speaking, but the meaning of the words was lost to Midori. She felt as though she were submerged under water: everything seemed muted, dulled somehow. The room swayed from side to side around her, and two large blurs seemed to move towards her. Midori tensed, reaching for her blades only to find that they were not at her hip. Panic surged through her. How had she been caught? Was she drugged? Would they torture her for information about Katsura-sama?

_Where were her clothes? _She was bare from the waist up except for her breast-bindings; her _gi _and the armguards she always wore on her assignments were gone.

"_Kabu…kabu…"_

From far away, Himura's voice floated through the pressing dullness in her ears. She opened her mouth, tried to call to him, but all that issued was a strange gurgling sound. Her mouth worked sluggishly as she desperately tried to yell to Himura that she was_ here, come and save her, don't let them take her again – _

Strong hands closed firmly around her biceps before she was pulled to her feet. She thrashed about, hoping to buy time, hoping that Himura would reach her –

"Shhh, _kabu_, it is alright now. You are safe with me; I will not let anyone harm you. Rest now. Shhh…"

That voice; it was so close, so comforting. The hands holding her loosened, one going down to wrap an arm around her waist in a loose embrace; the other tangled gently in her hair, forcing her tired head forward to rest on a warm chest.

"It's alright, _kabu;_ I have you, you are safe now. You can trust me…I promise I will take care of you…just relax, _kabu_…"

Slowly, slowly, Midori realized where she was. She was not in Kyoto during the Bakumatsu; she was in a dimly lit room in the Kamiya dojo in Tokyo during the eleventh year of the Meiji era. She was not being held captive; she was being embraced by her friend, Himura.

_But, _she _was_ still standing there in nothing but her breast bindings and _hakama._ Even in her current state of disorientation and weakness, she felt her already hot cheeks heat further.

"I need her back over here, Ken-san. We still need to get those binding off and put my paste on the wound."

Midori jerked in Himura's hold; she had not been aware that there was another person in the room. Though the world continued to sway drunkenly around her, Midori put both hands against Himura's chest and attempted to push herself out of his loose grasp. Boiling, searing pain shot through her right arm and shoulder as nausea hit her hard. She slumped back to her place against Himura's chest, closing her eyes in an attempt to combat the crippling dizziness.

She was dimly aware of Himura's hold on her shifting; only when her feet left the ground did she realize that he was cradling her like a bride, one arms supporting her shoulders while the other wrapped around her knees. Holding her very gently, he crossed back to their original position and knelt down to sit on the floor, keeping her in his arms. As carefully as he could, Himura arranged her until she was sitting in his lap, her legs stretched out in front of her and his arms wrapped around her waist. Midori allowed herself to lean weakly against his chest, trying not to make any noise as her shoulder was jolsted.

"Midori-san," a voice called; everything was still so muted. Blearily, Midori cracked open an eye. The lady doctor, Megumi, was kneeling in front of her, holding a bowl. Her clothes looked slightly rumpled, as did her hair, and Midori realized with a twinge that Megumi must have been the person she had kicked away. She tried to apologize, but once again the only sound to be heard was that weird gurgling. Midori tasted blood.

"Oh, yes, you must spit that out," Megumi said, setting down the bowl in her hands and picking up another that sat at her side, this one empty. She handed it to Midori, who accepted it with a shaky hand. Forcing her throat to clear, she spat a great wad of dark crimson blood into the bowl.

"I apologize, Midori-san," said Megumi as she took back the bowl of blood and set it aside. "Saito's attack nicked your lung; I should have anticipated a slight buildup of bloody mucus in your chest."

"_Go…gomennasai,_" Midori breathed; her chest and throat burned with the effort to speak. "For…for knocking you over…earlier…"

"There is no need to apologize," Megumi declared, waving a hand dismissively as if to shoo away Midori's words. "You were not in control of yourself; I am not angry. However, we need to remove the bindings you wear so that I can treat your wound. I believe some cloth has become lodged in the wound; it has caused an infection and fever, and it must be removed immediately. Kaoru's family doctor, Gensai-sama, will be here shortly to assist me if need be, but we still need to –"

"_No."_

Her voice, though weak, was terrifyingly cold. Midori felt sick with an irrational fear. Her torso was covered front and back with thin, bandage-like wrappings. From collarbone to just above her hips, not a stitch of skin was visible. The very notion of subjecting the woman to the sight of her uncovered torso was repellent to Midori.

"Midori-san –"

"No."

"_Kabu."_

"_No,"_ she whispered, horrified to realize that there were actually tears welling up in her eyes. She sucked in deep breaths, fighting the urge to burst into humiliated tears at her current predicament.

"Megumi-san," Himura murmured from behind her; his voice vibrated through her body, the sensation strangely comfortable. "This one has doctored Midori before, during our time as assassins in the Bakumatsu. Explain to this one what needs to be done and he will do it. You must leave the room."

"Ken-san!" the doctor exclaimed in a shocked voice, clearly appalled by the suggestion. "If anyone should leave the room it should be you! As a professional, I cannot condone leaving my female patient unsupervised with a man, not in her condition!"

There was a pause; Midori got the impression that Himura did not know what to do, while the doctor was waiting for him to vacate the room. Wearily lifting her head, Midori faced the doctor and gave her the best glare she could muster at the moment.

"Get out," she whispered, trying to put lethal force behind the two words. Exhausted by the effort, her head slumped back to Himura's chest, her eyes closing wearily. To her intense embarrassment, several hot tears spilled out, trickling in swiftly cooling paths down her feverish cheeks. Damn it all. Here she was, a ruthless killer, crying like some pathetic child.

"Very well," Megumi conceded softly after a moment. Midori did not open her eyes as she listened to the rustle of fabric marking the doctor's progress to the door. Himura fidgeted for a moment before saying anything.

"She did not tell me what I should do," Himura muttered. Midori wanted to punch him: _she _was the one with a hole in her shoulder, but Himura was the one that sounded like a petulant child.

_She_ already knew exactly what must be done. Midori really hoped that Himura had not developed a weak stomach in the last decade; if he had, it was going to make the next half hour or so extremely uncomfortable for the both of them. She really didn't want to have to deal with a puking samurai.

"Hand me the bowl," she rasped, opening her eyes as much as she was able; conveying instructions in her current condition would prove difficult, but not impossible. Gesturing weakly to the bowl the lady doctor had held earlier, she took it from Himura in shaky hands and brought it close to her nose for a sniff. Pseudo ginseng; Angelica to speed up healing; just the barest hint of Dipsacis; crushed Japanese peppermint. Megumi really did know what she was doing. Glancing around, a power brush was spotted, and Himura picked it up without question.

"You must unwind my bindings," she instructed. Immediately Himura laid her on the floor, being careful not to jar her injured shoulder, and began to unwind the bandages that wrapped tightly around her torso. She had taken the powder brush from him, and was clenching it in one hand so tightly to keep from screaming that she half expected it to break.

She knew that embarrassment should not enter into this exchange. Himura had seen her naked torso before; it had been he who treated her wounds after those hellish weeks of captivity. She, in turn, had seen him partially bared when he had returned to her after his absence with that Yukishiro woman and she had asked to examine his wounds to verify that they were healing properly. Midori _knew_ that there shouldn't be anything remotely sexual between them now, anymore than there had been a decade ago.

But when the bandages fell away and she lay there bare from the waist up, Midori felt a flush that had absolutely nothing to do with the fever enflame her entire body.

"What next, kabu?" Was it the fever messing with her head, or was Himura blushing?

"Megumi-san said there is cloth suck in the wound," she whispered. Damn, but this was awkward. "Get it out; use your fingers." _That_ was going to hurt like a bitch.

Himura hesitated. "Kabu, this will be extremely painful."

_Thank you for stating the obvious, you carrot-headed jackass._ Midori bit her tongue against the vitriolic remark and settled on a glare. "Just do it, Himura!"

Apparently she had not lost the ability to scare the shit out of him; Himura took one look at her fever-flushed, anger twisted face and jabbed two fingers into her inflamed wound.

Three things happened almost simultaneously: the shoji door opened again; Midori let out a shriek of pain at the feeling of Himura's calloused fingers digging around in her shoulder; and somebody started screaming in the general vicinity of the door.

"Kenshin! What are you doing!? _Why is she naked?!"_ Kaoru Kamiya was putting her lungs to good use, screaming shrilly and loudly enough that Midori wondered if there was a person in the whole of Tokyo who could not hear her.

"Kaoru-dono?!" There was that terrified, childish squeak again. Midori didn't think she would ever get used to that sound coming out of the Battousai's mouth.

"_Get out!"_ She herself was getting very good at snarling angrily, especially when she was snarling angrily at Kaoru. If she was to stay here much longer she should be able to perfect it.

Himura started to pull his fingers from her wound. "Get the damned cloth out, you _baka!_"

The way Himura was looking from her to Kamiya's frozen silhouette in the doorway in abject terror would have been hilarious under different circumstances. Like if she hadn't been stabbed in the shoulder. Right now it was just pissing her off.

"_Damn it, Himura! I do not enjoy having someone's fingers in my shoulder! Get the fucking cloth out NOW!"_

She managed to locate Kaoru's blurry face and shot her a look that would have made battle-crazed demons run in fear. _"We do not need a fucking audience, Kaoru Kamiya! Get out!"_

As the girl dropped the water bucket she had been carrying and bolted from the room, Himura pulled something from her in a manner that had her back arching from the floor; she sank her teeth into her lip to keep from screaming. The taste of blood exploded on her tongue.

A hand brushed sweaty hair from her eyes. "The cloth is out, kabu. Tell me what to do now."

"Mphf-" – she turned her head and spat more blood on the floor mats – "mix the powder with some of the water, and make a paste…"

Her impromptu doctor hurried to fetch the water bucket from where Kamiya had dropped it in her flight. In short order the paste was made, and Himura gently extracted the powder brush from Midori's fist. As delicately as possible, Himura applied a liberal coating to both the front and back of the wound. Midori had him search until he found the lady doctor's stitching supplies, set in a case near the door.

"Talk to me," Midori demanded weakly as Himura threaded a very fine needle. His wide lavender eyes looked down at her in confusion.

"About what, kabu?"

"Anything." Midori could feel her muscles tensing as Himura brought the needle close to her shoulder. "Just talk….Distract me. Take my mind off what a pathetic doctor you are."

She concentrated on the sound of his voice, blocking out the tugging and pulling on her beyond tenderized flesh.

"You have been coming in and out of consciousness for nearly two weeks," he informed her, his voice quiet as he focused the majority of his attention on his task. "My fight with Saito was interrupted. The man who sent him here to fight with me…it was Toshimichi Okubo."

"The Secretary of the Interior?!"

"Yes. He sent Saito here to gauge my level of skill after these last ten years of peace. He wants me to do a job for him."

Despite the fever, Midori felt a chill in the air. "He wants you to assassinate someone?"

Himura nodded, trickling water over the wound to wash away some of the blood; he resumed stitching, and continued talking.

"Do you remember Makoto Shishio?"

Midori's fever-glazed eyes widened. "Your successor? The one I worked with?"

"Yes. Did you hear the stories about his death?"

Midori contemplated how much to tell him. She knew exactly how Makoto Shishio had supposedly died; she had seen the aftermath.

"They want you…to kill him?" she asked instead of answering. Himura did not have all of her trust, as he once had. She would not speak to him of her involvement with Shishio; not yet, anyway.

"Yes."

They sat in silence for a time. Himura finished up on Midori's front and carefully helped her roll to lie on her stomach so that he could stitch her back.

"Saito said that you no longer kill," Midori stated finally, breaking the thick silence in the room.

"I don't."

"Then what will you do, Himura?"

He was quiet for so long she began to wonder if he would answer her at all. She had just opened her mouth to ask another question when his hand brushed low on her exposed back. Midori immediately tensed up, a hiss of both pain and warning whooshing between her clenched teeth.

"Don't touch me," she growled, her voice dripping with rapidly building rage and panic. "Don't touch me, Himura! Stitch up the fucking cut and get away from me!"

"I have to go back," he whispered, fingers tracing idle patterns across the deep whip scars that marred the flesh of her back. Midori heard herself give a mewl of fear before she could stop, and was surprised when Himura didn't move away. "I have to go back to Kyoto and face Shishio. I don't have a choice."

Midori felt herself shivering and couldn't make it stop. Something was wrong with Himura. He would never touch her like this, not when he could plainly see that it was scaring the hell out of her; not when she asked him to stop. She put her hands flat on the floor mats and attempted to push herself up, thinking she would make a run for it. Before she could blink she was flat on her back, strong arms keeping her caged as a hard male body lowered itself over her. Her hands were caught securely in his; in her rising panic her brain registered that his fingers were still coated with her blood.

"Okubo knows that you are alive now, kabu. He saw you here, with me. I was told that if I do not kill Makoto Shishio and keep him from starting a new Revolution, you will be executed for crimes against the Meiji government. Megumi-san will be imprisoned for illegal possession of opium. If I do not kill - or find another way to defeat - Makoto Shishio, I will lose my friend Megumi-san…and the woman who loves me."

"I do not love you!" she yelped; he had shifted ever-so-subtly against her, and she was sure her face was now beet-red in color. "Get off of me, Himura! Get off of me_ now_!"

He leaned down until his cool forehead was resting against her feverish one, his eyes going from violet to amber faster than she could blink. "No. We will stay like this until you are ready to stop lying to me. You told me once many years ago that you would never speak my name; you said it was too intimate; you told me that you would say it for me only once and then never speak it again: _unless the sky collapsed upon us or you fell in love with me, whichever came first._ The sky has not fallen on us, kabu; and yet you spoke my name."

She turned her face away from him; stared at the far wall with unseeing eyes. She felt tears well up in her eyes and blinked, not even caring when they began trickling slowly down her face.

"What does it matter now?" she whispered, her weak voice trembling with fatigue and pain. "You tried to kill me, Himura. _Because you were ordered to. _Even though we had been friends. Even though I trusted you above all others in the world. What does it matter if I love you, Himura? What do the feelings of a dead woman matter to her killer?"

Silence. It pressed against Midori's eardrums; filled her throbbing head with emptiness; drained the air from her lungs until she felt as though she would suffocate.

And just when she was about to tell Himura _again_ to get off of her, a calloused and bloodied finger pressed against her cheek; forcing her to face him again; forcing her to meet that amber gaze, suddenly full of passion and a strange, possessive tenderness.

"It matters, Midori –" – and there are more tears when he says her name in that voice, in that tone – "because I love you as well."

And with the force of ten years of regret and remorse and self-hatred, Himura Battousai closed the distance between them and molded his lips to those of Zetsumei Kurohyou.

* * *

_A/N: If you are not a fan of even light smut, please note that you will not want to read the next chapter._


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori was my idea.

This chapter's going to be a little different; I'm going to try my hand at writing from Kenshin's point of view.

* * *

_He should be dead, she thinks to herself as the man before her lets loose a demonic shriek of intense pain. This man would be better off dead._

_And any normal person would have died, had they been doused with oils and set afire._

_As her charge writhes on the futon in a feverish fit, the woman who was once Zetsumei Kurohyou secures the last tie around his left ankle, effectively shackling him to the mattress. He is already so grievously injured that she is unsure he can be saved. But she will do her best by this man._

_She owes him a life-debt, and she means to see it repaid._

_It is not weeks, but months later that her patient again becomes aware of his surroundings. Months in which the woman bathes his body several times daily with buckets of ice cold water; months of waking in the middle of the night to his agonized screams and trying to sooth his literally burning hot flesh._

_She is running a wet rag over his chest when a searing hand snatches at her wrist, squeezing hard enough to bruise. She says nothing; her head raises just enough to meet his red, fever-glazed eyes as she attempts to extract her hand from his. He does not release her._

"_Who…" he rasps out; she cannot help but notice that this is the first time he has ever spoken to her without heavy arrogance in his every word._

_Twisting her torso, she reaches out with her free hand and grasps a bowl of cold water. She tilts it to his lips and lets him drink his fill. A different bowl is soon in her hand; this one contains a thick paste that she has created to put on his skin, in hopes that it will keep his abnormal temperature under control._

"_Let go of my arm."_

_His eyes widen at the sound of her voice, and his grip slackens enough that she is able to extract her wrist. Dipping two fingers into the paste, she begins lightly rubbing it into his chest and stomach._

"_You're…Zetsumei Kurohyou…my old partner…"_

"_I was," she concedes, leaning over him so that she can apply the paste to his side. Red eyes follow her every move._

"_Where…?"_

"_A small home not far from where you burned. If I had known that it was you who was screaming, I would have gone to your aid sooner. My apologies."_

"_Why are you – "_

_She moves the sheet covering his nether regions away and begins applying more paste. "I owe you a life debt. If it is possible to save your life now, I will do so. Go back to sleep."_

_The next time he awakes, several days later, she has wrapped his entire body in bandages coated with the same paste she had previously applied directly to his skin._

"_You're not going to die, Makoto Shishio. I have lowered your body's temperature enough that you need not fear having your blood boil. You should avoid strenuous activity; your life as a swordsman is over, unless you wish to kill yourself."_

"_How long have I been here, woman?" He shows no reaction in facial expression or tone of voice to what she has just told him. He is staring out a small window to the side of the futon he occupies; he is sitting up, the bonds on his wrists and ankles having been removed months ago._

"_Six months."_

_Those eyes turn to gaze impassively at her. "You cared for me for six months?"_

_She shrugs. "I owed you a life debt. You may consider it paid."_

"_What is your name? You never told me."_

_She gazes indifferently at him for a long moment. "You have yet to earn my name, Makoto Shishio."_

* * *

Ginger. Himura tasted like ginger.

Midori's good hand, released from his grasp, was planted on his shoulders, whether to pull him closer or push him away was uncertain. His hands were tangled gently in her hair, titling her head to find an angle that gave him better access. She had gasped in shock as their lips met and he had immediately capitalized on the opportunity to taste her. His hot breath flooded her throat as his tongue lightly massaged the roof of her mouth, just as his hands were lightly massaging her scalp.

Midori had always loved ginger.

She was torn. Part of her was aching to pull him closer; screaming at her to tear away his clothes and pride and lies and betrayals, tear away everything that stood between them and take him for her own. That part demanded that she give herself to him, _now._

Another part of her was demanding that she maim him. She was injured, damn it. She was injured and feverish and she didn't _trust _him, couldn't let herself love him again. Because if she allowed herself to love him as she once had, and he betrayed her again, it would be the end of her. It would kill her more completely than any blade ever could.

Midori pushed weakly with her good hand, and Himura pulled away just enough to part their lips. His eyes, molten gold now, bore into her own.

"Wait," she gasped, fighting to regain her breath after his assault. "Just…just wait, I…I don't –"

A finger was pressed to her lips, and he growled, "Do not lie to me."

She reached up and irritably removed the offending finger. "I am in no condition to do…this!" She was flustered, embarrassed. What _were_ they doing, exactly?

Before she was able to speak again, the world shifted around her. When it righted, she was somehow straddling Himura's lap with his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. She glared weakly at him; the effect was no doubt lost between her tousled black hair and flushed cheeks.

"Himura –"

"My name is Kenshin," he interrupted her, fingers stroking slow circles on the sensitive skin of her lower back. She twitched forward, looking to get away from those wandering digits, only to jerk back to stop from pressing against Himura's chest.

"Let me go," she muttered to the wall just above his shoulder. She couldn't look at him; couldn't face those eyes and still tell him to leave her alone.

Keeping one arm firmly around her waist, he took her good hand in his and pressed it to his unscarred cheek. She tugged halfheartedly, but he would not release her.

"Look at me."

She shook her head furiously; the lump in her throat made speech momentarily impossible. When he moved his head to the left, she raised her eyes to the ceiling to avoid his gaze.

"Kabu," he probed, his voice infinitely tender, "if you can look me in the eye and tell me that you want me to let you go…I will do so. But if you can't…"

Her hand was moved, and something warm and moist wrapped around her smallest finger. She yanked furiously on her arm, but the iron grip around her wrist didn't budge.

"Damn you," she whispered, suddenly exhausted. "Why are you doing this to me? Why do you ask me for something I can't give? Have I not had enough pain in my life to suit you, Himura?"

A sharp pressure that felt suspiciously like a bite was applied to her finger. Reluctantly Midori lowered her gaze to meet those hypnotizing pools that threatened to drown her in their depths. Her suspicions were confirmed when she watched him pull her finger from his mouth and blow gently on it, staring directly at her the whole time.

"What do you think it is, Midori, that I am asking you to give me?" he asked softly, nuzzling the back of her hand like an over-sized cat.

"My love," she muttered, renewing her attempts to free her wrist. "My trust. The heart you put a blade through on _orders._ Things I once would have given you without pause. Things that one who is dead cannot extend or receive."

The arm around her waist pulled tighter around her, forcing her closer until her head rested wearily against Himura's neck. Her hand was release, and Himura used his own newly freed hand to stroke his long fingers through her hair. She balled hers into a fist against his chest and closed her eyes wearily.

"You are angry that I attempted to kill you, as I was ordered." There was a note in his voice that she couldn't decipher; some emotion that she couldn't name without seeing his face and at the moment, she was too damn tired to move.

"Should I then be angry that you sold yourself and important information to the Shogunate in return for my immunity should we have lost?"

Her eyes snapped open and her head jerked up until she was staring at him, shock and disbelief flittering across her face.

"Wh – what?" she breathed, her face so close to Himura's that she could feel his breath on her lips.

"Our superiors knew about your dealings with the Shogunate, Midori." The continued use of her name would have confused her further if that were possible. "They were aware of the deal you made for my life; they were aware that you would have died in my place. They knew that you endangered our cause for nothing more than the safety of one man."

Alarms and questions were ringing in her head. The words Himura was speaking made no sense to her. _Dealings with the Shogunate?_ The only dealings she had ever had with the Shogunate were as their executioner. _Willing to die in Himura's place?_ Well, she had to admit that was at least not completely false. If Himura had been in danger and she could have saved him at the cost of her own life on the battlefield, she would have done so without hesitation.

_Himura was angry at the idea that she would have died for him?_

"Where did you hear this?" she asked, studying his face. Restrained fury; that was the tone in his voice that she had been unable to place earlier. Fine, he could be furious with her; she was suddenly pissed, too.

"Where did you hear this, Himura?" she repeated when he made no answer, her voice dropping into a cold whisper. "Did you by chance hear this story from the man who gave you the orders to kill me? Would that man happen to have been Ekinosuke Retsuuo?"

The very name left a vile taste in the back of Midori's mouth. Ekinosuke Retsuuo; she remembered him to be a heavily religious man, constantly fingering a set of prayer beads kept at his waist. Renowned for his ability at _storytelling. _Himura was a damned idiot.

"How did you know that?" Himura asked her, the fury no longer prevalent in his tone. The gold in his eyes was fading even as she watched; indigo reflected her haggard features back at her.

"I made it my business to know who spread the rumors that had my allies calling me a traitor."

She still heard their voices sometimes in her nightmares. She could still see the anger and hatred in the faces of the men that had hacked away at her until Himura had showed up and skewered her. The memories still caused her to wake up screaming. All because of one man and his talent for lying.

Fingers brushed against the nape of her neck; she flinched at the sensation, startled.

"Did you sell yourself for my safety, kabu?"

Midori glared at him, incensed that he should have to ask her that question. She had assumed Himura knew her better than that; obviously she was giving him far too much credit.

"I was not one so foolish as to make deals with my enemies," she told him, voice quite frosty. "I thought you of all people would have known that. But apparently neither of us knows the other as well as we thought."

She pushed against him again. She wasn't going to have a conversation with him while sitting in his lap, literally half naked with a newly stitched wound in her chest area.

His arm around her waist stopped her retreat. She sat there, one hand hanging limply at her side while the other was pressed flat over the center of Himura's chest. Through her hand, she could feel his heartbeat.

"Why will you not let me go?" she asked, her voice flat now. Anger is an emotion that requires energy to sustain it; her body was empty, drained by her fever. All she wanted now was for Himura to leave her in peace so that she could sleep.

The hand that had been brushing idly at the nape of her neck circled around to the front. Slowly, as though he hoped not to startle her, Himura began lowering his hand towards her chest. Naturally Midori removed her hand from his chest and caught the wandering limb in a tight grasp, green eyes narrowed.

"Don't."

"Why are you so afraid of this, kabu?" he murmured, his free hand once again stroking the scars on her back; Midori shuddered at the feeling, a strange warmth building low in her belly. "Or is it me that you are afraid of?"

She was having supreme difficult concentrating on his words when his hand…gods, what was wrong with her? Why did his touch make her feel so _alive?_

For ten years she had walked the earth as a dead woman. Midori had been all over Japan; had tasted exotic foods from foreign lands; heard and seen and experience things most people would never know or dream. She had held a newborn infant in her hands; she had watched men die by her blade. But never, not in ten long years of living death, had she truly felt _alive._

Ironic, that the man who could make her feel this way was the same man who had stolen her ability to live in the first place.

_"Why?" _she whimpered, fresh tears blurring her vision. Without warning she suddenly leaned forward, once again resting her head on Himura's chest. Her hand tangled its' fingers with its' captive, clutching tightly. "Why does it have to be _you_?"

Tentatively, carefully, Midori planted a small kiss on Himura's chest.

She heard the sudden stillness as his breath stopped. His arm pulled her closer, until her body was pressed so close to his that her fevered mind couldn't distinguish where he ended and she began.

"Why does it always have to be you?" she whispered.

He brought their joined hands under her chin; forced her head up so that he could see her face. Slowly, giving her time to protest or to pull away, he lowered his lips to hers once again.

* * *

Kenshin Himura wasn't exactly sure what the hell he was doing.

He should have left after stitching Midori's wound. He was sure that if Megumi-san found out that he was now planning on spending the night with her, he would be the recipient of a harsh scolding. Not to mention several bruises.

And if Kaoru-dono were to become aware of this…he shuddered to think of the possible fall-out, for Midori as well as for himself.

Kenshin was not a stupid man. He was well aware that Kaoru-dono's feelings for him were not of the type he felt for her. Yes, he did love her; but it was the love an older brother harbored for a cherished little sister. She and Yahiko-chan were like siblings to him. He could never even dream of loving her the way she wished to be loved. Kaoru-dono was just so _innocent_. To stain her soul with the blood on his hands…he could never condone such an act.

But Midori…his precious kabu…

He pulled her closer to him, deepening the kiss. Gently Kenshin freed his hand of her grasp only to bury it knuckle deep in her glorious hair. She was trembling against him – in fear or something else, he couldn't be sure.

_She _knew the darkest parts of him, the parts he could never share with Kaoru-dono. _She _had been beside him through the darkest years of his life. Her soul was even bloodier than his own; she would never judge him or his past choices.

She had haunted his nightmares all these years. Night after night he would watch his younger self drive his blade into her skin; night after night he would see her blood and hear her screams. Those days usually found him at the nearest water source at dawn, furiously scrubbing at his own hands; desperate to rid his skin of the blood. _Her _blood.

And then she had shown up at the Kamiya dojo with Sano in tow, thin and pale and _alive. _

His first thought was that he must have dozed off waiting for Kaoru-dono and Yahiko-chan to return for dinner. That it must have been some new version of his old nightmares. It was only when he had become aware of Sano shaking him, telling him to calm down, that he had realized he wasn't dreaming. She was really here, standing not ten feet away from him with that horrible look of fear in her eyes.

He never wanted to see that look on her face because of him again.

Kenshin blinked and found himself hovering over her, her back to the floor and her startled green eyes gazing up at him. Her chest heaved as she gasped for breath, her breasts rising to brush gently against his clothed chest with each lungful.

His gaze moved away from her flushed face, meandering down to rest on her freshly stitched wound. Anger flared in his blood at the memory of Saito's blade piercing her. Her demented, hatred-filled gaze flashed before his eyes and he flinched; though she had not been directing such a look at him, the sheer intensity of her loathing had shaken him.

His attention was caught by a similar scar on her opposite shoulder. It was red, raised and inflamed, as though the wound had never fully healed. He did not recognize this scar; in their time as assassins he had been the one that had doctored any wounds she received, he should recognize – comprehension hit him hard in the gut. This was from_ his _blade. _He _had given her this scar. Reverantly, he extracted his fingers from her hair and stroked them gently over the mark.

"Did you doctor this wound yourself, kabu?" He expected an instant yes; perhaps a scowl at such a foolish question. Obviously a woman assumed to be dead cannot easily seek medical aid without drawing attention to herself.

He did not expect her to turn her head away, letting her long bangs fall over her eyes in a concealing curtain.

"No," she whispered. "Don't question me about that, Himura. I don't want to talk about it with you or anyone else."

_Himura._ Still she refused to speak his name. He would even settle for _ninjin_, her silly pet name for him. Anything but a cold and distant Himura.

Deliberately, Kenshin lowered his head and slowly ran his tongue over the scar he had given her. He smiled against her skin as she gasped and brought her hands up to press against his shoulders.

"Hi – Himura –"

Not yet, then. Kenshin trailed his mouth across her collarbone, trailing lingering open-mouthed kisses over her hot flesh. She tasted of oranges and salt. He dallied over the edge of her jutting collarbone, nibbling tenderly, savoring the taste of her.

He brought one hand up, supporting his weight on the other so as not to crush her, and very gently cupped her breast in his calloused fingers.

Results were instantaneous.

A sharp pain stabbed at his lower thigh as a fist collided with the side of his head, sending him sprawling to the side. Midori was up and away from him before he could blink; in an instant she was across the room, crouched in a corner with her arms crossed protectively over her chest.

He picked himself up slowly, body tensed in reaction both to the pain of the blows and to the intense warning radiating from the huddled figure. She was shaking; even in the dim lit from the single lantern, Kenshin could plainly see the furious tremors that wracked her frame.

Belatedly, his brain decided to inform him that the flush in her cheeks was not a product of passion, as he had assumed; it was a product of fever. The gasp from earlier was not one of pleasure; it was one of fear.

Guilt hit him then. He shouldn't have touched her. Midori was still running a high fever; was probably in a good deal of pain; and they had woken her from violent nightmares and rambling mutters of 'no' and 'don't touch me'. She was terrified now, and once again it was Kenshin's fault.

His eyes cast about for some way to calm her, landing on the neatly folded black _gi_ he had fetched from Midori's room days earlier in the event she woke up and wished to dress. Black _hakama_ rested on the floor under the _gi_, but he had a strong suspicion that complete chaos would be sure to ensue should he suggest she change those as well. A roll of white bandages for her to wrap around her torso sat atop the _gi_.

Hesitantly he looked back to her. Glazed eyes watched him with unfocused distrust. Abruptly she coughed, the sound rattling in her chest. Midori put her face in her hands as her body was brutalized by a violent fit of coughing. When at last the fit subsided, Kenshin watched as she pulled her hands away from her face and stared at them as crimson liquid dripped from her hands and chin to the floor.

"I can never rid my hands of the blood," she whispered, voice so hoarse it was painful to hear. "Why will it not wash away? Why must it coat my skin so?"

Immediately he was at her side, his own magenta _gi _torn from his body to wrap delicately around her hunched frame. She flinched violently at his touch but did not otherwise react as he gently lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the water bucket Kaoru-dono had provided. Setting her carefully on the floor he grabbed up the cloth draped over the bucket's side and dunked it, bringing it up quickly to wring out the excess water. He turned back to Midori and reached for one of her hands. She made no protest, merely staring at a point somewhere to his left as he cleansed the blood from first one hand, then the other.

Kenshin was unsure what to do about the line of blood trailing from her mouth to the tip of her chin; would it scare her further if he wiped it off? Slowly, being very careful not to startle her, Kenshin reached out with his free hand and cupped her chin. He turned her head towards him, peered into her eyes. She seemed to stare through him with empty green orbs that sickened him with guilt. Was this how she coped with the pain she carried in her heart? By withdrawing into herself and blocking out the world? He wanted to weep for his friend; wanted to curl her scarred and battered body into his arms and soothe the pain away. But it was not the pain in her body that brought that dead look into her beautiful green eyes; it was the pain in her soul, and he could do nothing to ease it for her. Very gently, he brought the cloth to her skin and wiped the blood away.

Later, as he settled for the night against the wall near the shoji, Kenshin cast a sorrowful look at the still form under the blankets on the futon in the center of the room.

This woman was a ghost; she closed herself off, held herself aloof from everyone, even him. The shine he remembered in her eyes was gone, lost under the shadows of pain and betrayal. _His _betrayal; for it had been betrayal when he believed the words of one man, a superior, over hers. She who had been his partner. She who had held him as he wept into her lap, when he had returned to Kyoto after the death of his wife. She who had trusted him above all others.

She who would have offered him her heart.

And he had killed her because he had not trusted her enough.

_He _had brought her to this state. It wasn't the wound or the fever or Saito; it was Kenshin. And if he lived for a hundred years he would never be able to forgive himself.

Why should he forgive himself when _she _would not?

* * *

When Kenshin awoke to an empty room the next morning, he knew with a crushing certainty that she was gone.

The futon was neatly put away; both sets of her clothing were missing; and his own _gi _was folded beside him. He picked it up and buried his nose in the cloth. It smelt of oranges; of her. Slowly he put it on, rose to his feet, and exited the room in which he had spent most of the last two weeks.

He went straight to her room. He knew she was gone, had probably left hours ago; but his feet would not listen to what his mind was telling them. He moved as if through a dream: aware of movement but unable to stop it.

Her satchel of belongings was gone. The room was empty but for a single piece of paper on the floor. Kenshin's hand, when he picked up the note, was trembling.

_Himura,_

_I have what I came for. There is no longer a reason for my presence. In the dining area you will find a coin purse; see that it is given to Kaoru-dono as payment for any expenses caused by me. Be sure she understands that part of it should be used to purchase a new training gi and hakama for Yahiko-chan. Part should also be used to repay Megumi-san for her services._

_Tell Sanosuke goodbye for me._

_For you I leave what is left of my heart. Do with it what you wish._

_Sayonara._

She was really gone.

Kenshin slowly sank to the floor, crumpling the letter in his trembling fist. He was aware of the presence behind him; he simple did not have the strength to turn or acknowledge his friend.

There was a long moment of silence.

"She's gone?"

Sano's question was flat, dead. It was a question to which he did not wish to put an answer; he merely asked because he had to. Bleakly, Kenshin nodded, holding up the note in a silent invitation for Sano to take it. When it was pulled from his grasp he let his hand drop lifelessly into his lap.

When Sano stomped around in front of him, fisted a hand in his _gi,_ and jerked him into the air, he let himself hang from the bunched up cloth as he stared dully into Sano's angry face.

"Are you just gonna sit here and mope?" the taller man yelled, shaking his prisoner about by the collar. "Go after her! You know her better than anyone, Kenshin! If anybody's gonna find her it'd be you!"

"I can't go after her," Kenshin replied, his voice so quiet it was barely a whisper. "Tomorrow I must meet with Secretary Okuubo. And…if she does not wish to be found, no one alive will find her."

Sano gave a roar of rage. His fist connected with Kenshin's jaw; the redhead flew across the room, slamming into the wall with a crash. He slid down to the floor, not even caring about the throbbing pain.

"You _idiot_! Who gives a _shit_ about old man Okuubo?"

The letter was tossed at his feet; his friend stormed past him, halting briefly in the doorway.

"You read the last thing she wrote to you before she said goodbye, Kenshin. You read that again, and then tell me that Okuubo is more important."

The shoji slammed behind him with a bang.

Kenshin's vision was oddly blurry as he reached again for the letter. Through the haze of tears in his eyes, he scanned to the last lines as Sano had ordered.

_For you I leave what is left of my heart. Do with it what you wish._

Again the note was crumpled in a trembling fist. Kenshin Himura closed his eyes; lowered his head.

And wept.

_A/N: Review and tell me what you think. And go read the one-shot Death and the Messenger. This chapter will then make more sense._


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin; however, Midori is my idea.

* * *

_He watches her for some time in the darkness before approaching._

_"They're beautiful fireflies, aren't they?"_

_His voice startles her; she swings around with a happy smile on her innocent face. "Kenshin!"_

_He stops some distance from her, smiling gently. He knows that what he is going to tell her is going to hurt her; she has developed an attachment to him that surpasses anything he could have foreseen when he met her, all those months ago._

_Her smile drops; she frowns uncertainly at him. "Ken…shin?"_

_"Secretary Okuubo was murdered today," he tells her, eyes moving over her face, memorizing; he does not want to forget her, his surrogate sister. He once feared that he would forget another face; that he would lose the sound of a voice that meant the world to him. Now that face and voice are gone from his life._

_And he will soon be gone from Kaoru's._

_She doesn't understand, but then he didn't expect her to. Kaoru has always been terrified of what she deems his 'Battousai personality'. She refuses to understand that he doesn't have a split personality. He is both Kenshin Himura and the Battousai; they are not separate identities._

_She stiffens when he takes her in his arms, hugging her gently. He supposes this is cruel; he is aware that she has probably dreamed of such an embrace under different circumstances, that this will turn her dream into a nightmare. Finally he is halfway intimate with her; and now he is going to leave her. He concentrates on this, on his guilt for this; he refuses to dwell on the last time he had a woman go stiff in his arms._

_"I'm a wanderer, Kaoru-dono, and it's time to wander again."_

_The words taste a lie on his tongue; if _she_ would only have him, he would never wander away from her. But she does not want him. She is gone._

_He pretends that he can't see her tears or hear the sobs that are his name as he walks away._

* * *

Someone was following her.

Midori crouched before the small fire she had started, holding her hands near the blaze to warm them as she waited for the two fish she had caught in a nearby stream to finish cooking. Around her, the dark forest was abnormally still.

She had sensed the presence behind her late this morning, four days after her departure from Tokyo. All day as she traveled her invisible companion had stayed just on the edge of her senses, possibly unaware that she knew they were there. Now night had fallen, and Midori was tired of her second shadow and its games.

"If you wish to eat this fish, you will have to come out of the trees," she called, not looking away from the fire. "I will not play the maid by bringing your supper to you."

"Thank you," a cheerful, young male voice piped behind her. "It's really very nice of you to offer to feed me."

Midori shrugged, taking the now done fish off of the fire and holding one behind her to her unseen companion. It was promptly taken, and the young man moved to sit across the fire from her.

"I do not suppose that if I told you to stop following me you would listen," Midori remarked, taking a small bite of her own fish.

"Nope." The young man smiled at her across the fire, his eyes seemingly squinted shut. "Sorry, but I'm supposed to be following you. My master wanted me to find you if it was at all possible. I've actually been looking for you for a couple of months now, but I'd given up. Sure is a lucky coincidence that we both happen to be traveling in the same direction, huh?"

Midori disregarded his question as frivolous and asked one of her own. "Who are you, boy? Who is this master you mentioned?"

"Oh, of course, how rude of me!" the boy laughed, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. "I am Soujiro Seta; my masters' name is Makoto Shishio."

A chill went down Midori's spine at the sound of her ex-partners' name. She was silent for a time, slowly consuming her fish and studying the boy across from her. He was dressed in a blue kimono with lightly colored hakama over it, a pair of _tabi_ and sandals on his feet. His brown hair and pale, average face made him easily forgettable in a crowd; he would be a perfect assassin. The smile on his face was…creepy.

At length, he spoke again, holding up his half-eaten fish. "This is very good."

She said nothing, lowering her gaze to the crackling fire between them.

"Oh, I guess I should check! You are Zetsumei Kurohyou, right?"

She gave the smallest of nods.

"I'm sorry I had to ask like that, but Shishio-sama would sure be mad if I brought back the wrong woman. He gets kinda scary when he's mad."

"What has led you to believe that I will go anywhere with you, boy?" Her voice was quiet, edged with a clear warning that her companion chose to ignore.

"I just thought if you were going to kill me, you would have done it when I was following you today," he stated in that cheery voice; his facial expression did not falter, as though the threat of impending death at the hands of a legendary assassin was an everyday occurrence for him. Which, considering he worked for Makoto Shishio, it probably was.

Midori tossed the bones of her dinner into the fire and stood; Soujiro Seta copied her movements, bringing to her attention the _katana _resting at his hip. So this boy was a swordsman? Interesting.

"What business does your master have with me that would compel me to go with you?"

"I'm really sorry Kurohyou-sama, but Shishio-sama told me you would probably ask me that. He said to tell you to come find out for yourself."

That bastard.

"Am I to assume that if I tell you that you and your master can both go to hell, you will say that he has ordered you to bring me to him by force if necessary?" she asked, keeping her non-threatening posture to contrast the warning in her voice.

"Yup, basically," he replied, finally opening his squinted eyes to regard her with ordinary brown orbs. That creepy smile stretched practically ear to ear as he put a hand to the sheath of his _katana. _Arrogant brat.

Midori let loose a long sigh as she brought her hands to her face and rubbed furiously at her eyes. She _really _didn't want to get tangled up in whatever Shishio was planning. But, she also didn't want to have to kill the messenger. Creepy smile and _katana_ aside, he was just a kid. Doubtlessly Shishio had sent him after her because he had guessed that his age, at least, would keep him from a very quick death.

"Where is your master, boy?" she asked, kicking dirt over the fire to extinguish the flames. Midori leaned down and picked up her satchel. Her _katana _was already secured on her back.

"Oh, right now I'd say he's probably waiting for me at his mansion near Shingetsu Village. Do you want to rest a little first? I know you're not that young anymore, so if you want to wait until tomorrow we can sleep here tonight."

Pissed now, Midori opened her mouth to tell Soujiro Seta exactly where he could stick his damned youth and false concerns. Instead a hacking cough choked her words, and she turned her back on him as she spat globs of blood onto the ground.

_Damn it._ She couldn't stop having coughing fits. At least once, sometimes twice daily her throat would fill with blood and she would cough over and over again, trying not to gag on the scarlet liquid that flooded her mouth and soon covered the ground around her. She knew that Megumi-san had said Saito's attack nicked her lung; but this was getting really old really fast.

She felt a hand at her elbow and jerked away, growling in-between coughs. The hand receded, even as that annoyingly cheerful voice trilled in her ears.

"Are you alright, Kurohyou-sama?"

She made no attempt to answer, merely crouched down on her haunches and continued coughing.

At length Midori cleared her throat and spat the last of the blood onto the ground before her. Slowly she rose to her feet again, glancing over her shoulder at the boy. He stood a few steps behind her, still smiling serenely with his hand on the hilt of his _katana._

"Where is Shingetsu Village?" she asked, her voice low and raspy from the excessive coughing.

"I think that maybe it'd be a good idea to –"

"I don't give a damn what you think," she snapped angrily. She didn't want a debate; she wanted an answer. "Just answer the question or led me to your psychotic master, whichever you choose."

A long moment passed, in which Midori glared at the increasingly annoying boy and Soujiro smiled oh-so-innocently back at her.

"Well…if you're sure you don't want to wait until tomorrow, I can show you the way to Shingetsu Village now," Soujiro finally conceded, walking towards her. Midori tensed reflexively, not sure of his intentions.

"It's that way," he pointed out, gesturing in the direction behind her. Stiffly Midori turned and began walking, Soujiro right beside her.

"We'll be traveling together for a couple of days, you know. It's going to be really awkward if you try to attack me every time I get too close to you, Kurohyou-sama. Shishio-sama would be really angry if I killed you, so you don't have to worry."

Midori clenched her teeth and locked her jaw, determined to say nothing. This was going to be a long couple of days.

* * *

By the time the two travelers reached Shingetsu Village over a week later, Midori was prepared to inflict extravagant, drawn-out torture on Makoto Shishio as retaliation for setting the most annoying boy alive as her companion. The fires that had burned Soujiro Seta's master would seem pleasant compared to what Midori would like to do to him. _No one_ should _ever _smile that much. The unnatural cheeriness in the boys' manner grated on Midori's nerves worse as each day passed.

She had suspected they would not get along well after the third night spent in each others' company.

She'd had that gods-damned nightmare again. Again she was jerked to her knees by dozens of faceless zombies as the sky rained blood; their screams for mercy cut into her ears like knives. Again Himura had come to kneel before her; except this time, instead of a silent staring contest, he had taken her mouth in a violent kiss as the hands of the corpses groped and caressed her body.

Midori had woken up screaming and coughing at this point, only to panic at the feel of hands shaking her by the shoulders. In an instant she had flipped onto her shaker, holding the person down as she wrapped her hands around his throat. Only the edge of a _katana_ against her jugular had kept her from killing Soujiro, who actually frowned at her with his eyes wide open as she coughed blood onto his face.

She had not allowed herself to sleep since.

Now they walked through a run-down ghost town of a village. Not a person was to be seen, but Midori could feel eyes following her as Soujiro led her down the main road. She wondered if her guide was aware that they were being watched, or if he just didn't care. Glancing around, she was sickened to glimpse the silhouettes of two mutilated corpses hanging from an erected gallows down a side street. Just what kind of village _was_ this?

"Not much further, Kurohyou-sama."

She made no reply, but after days of one-sided conversations she doubted Soujiro honestly expected one.

Midori was nervous. She was soon to meet with the man she had last seen almost ten years ago, after she cared for his burned body for six months and then sent him on his way. Even then, half out of his senses with pain and plans for revenge, he had made her feel…vulnerable. She wondered if he would still have the same affect.

"Here we are."

She blinked and looked around her. Somehow she had zoned out and walked into a forest with Soujiro; she wondered how long ago they had left the village, how far she had walked without even realizing what she was doing. They were standing at the doors of an enormous mansion that just screamed _Makoto Shishio._ He'd always had an artistic flair.

Soujiro held the door open for her and she walked in, keeping her eyes on the floor. Midori followed the back of Soujiro's feet through hallway after hallway, up at least one flight of stairs and through a doorway before he came to a stop in front of her and bowed at the waist.

"I found Kurohyou-sama just like you told me, Shishio-sama."

"Good work, Soujiro. Leave us; I'll call you back in later."

She suppressed a shiver as Soujiro passed her and exited the room; Shishio's arrogant voice had not lost its' ability to make her skin crawl. She waited until the western-style door clicked shut behind Soujiro before she slowly raised her head and met Makoto Shishio's burning red gaze.

The first thing her mind registered was the woman standing to Shishio's side. She was beautiful; she reminded Midori of the geishas of the Bakumatsu. She held herself with eye-catching grace and poise that was uncommon for women now; her kimono was low-cut, worn off the shoulder in a manner that was frowned upon in this new era.

Even as her mind categorized these things about the woman, the larger part of her awareness was focused on the man.

As it had been when she had last seen him, his entire body appeared to be wrapped in bandages, save for a small opening for his mouth and two more for his eyes. Dark hair stuck through the wrappings on his head, as did what looked like a metal headband of some sort. His body below the waist and his left side were covered by a blue kimono; the _katana _Midori had expected hung at his hip. Black gloves of a shiny, flexible material covered his hands.

She raised her eyebrow at him. "_Kuso._ I thought I looked poorly."

A deep chuckle sounded from Shishio as his whore bristled beside him.

"Don't you dare insult Shishio-sama, you dirty beggar!" she trilled; even her voice was one of the geisha, refined and pleasant to hear even when raised in anger. Her eyes flashed…Midori swallowed hard past the lump that had suddenly made itself present in her throat. The woman's eyes were lavender. Like _his._

"Yumi. Go wait with Soujiro."

Damn it, why was her skin still flinching like that?

Without another word the woman stalked gracefully past Midori, the sweet scent of her perfume lingering in the room even after the door had snapped shut behind her.

"I apologize for her behavior; Yumi tends to get a little territorial with me."

Midori waved a hand, brushing aside the apology. "Why did you send the boy to find me?"

He smirked and she wanted to hit him. Badly.

"Soujiro has a talent for finding people for me. I wanted to speak to you, and it's not like I can waltz around the countryside trying to track you down. Sourjiro was the best choice for someone who could find you and bring you here without getting himself killed."

She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion. "What could you possibly have to talk to me about that was so important you sent one of your assassins to find me?"

Shishio's smirk widened as he stalked towards her, looking like a cat about to devour a mouse. The mouse in question glared at him; her hand was up and wrapping around the hilt of her _katana _in warning before he had taken two steps.

"Back off." The words were harsh, bitten out between clenched teeth bared in a snarl. Shishio's freakish laughter echoed in the room as he made wide circles around her; the predatory look in his eyes sharpened exponentially.

"Still as defensive as ever, I see," he mused.

"I see no reason to be less than defensive around you," she replied coolly.

The bandage where his eyebrow should be rose mockingly. "You mean we're still not friends yet? I've saved your life, you've saved mine. Shouldn't that mean we can be friends?"

If Midori really suspected for even an instant that Shishio wanted to be her friend, she would curse the fates for making it her lot in life to draw the attention of freaks and monsters. But she knew that friendship wasn't really what he wanted from her; he was simply toying with her as he had always enjoyed doing.

To hell with his games; she wanted answers and then she wanted to leave.

"If there is no particular reason for my presence then I will take my leave," she muttered, turning back to the wooden door and stepping towards it. "I would advise you not to send any more of your pets to chase me if you do not wish to have them returned to you in pieces."

Her hand was on the handle of the door when hot breath ghosted over her neck and a gloved hand pressed into the door above her head, keeping it shut and her in the room. Turning her head just slightly, Midori glared at Shishio; their faces were so close the tips of their noses were almost touching.

"I am not interested in playing games, Shishio," she hissed, her fingers clenching around the door handle until her knuckles turned white. "Either tell me why you wanted me here or remove your hand and let me leave."

He seemed unperturbed by the look on her face. Red eyes danced along her body as he leaned closer still; Midori jerked her head away from his, bashing it quite painfully into the door. Her eyes went slightly crossways as she watched him nuzzle her cheek with his cloth-covered nose, a sick smirk gracing his burnt lips. The hand previously gripping the door handle jumped to his chest as she turned fully to him, shoving him away from her and reaching up to pull out her _katana._

"What do you _want?!"_ she snarled.

While the smirk didn't fade in the slightest, he did take several steps back before deigning to answer.

"I want the same thing you should want, Zetsumei Kurohyou: I want revenge."

"Your revenge is not my concern," she snapped, eyes darting from his face to the hand on the hilt of his _katana _and back again.

"I want to make a deal with you," he continued, acting as though he had not heard her.

"I don't care to make any deals."

Again she was ignored. "I want to destroy the core of the Meiji government. I'm sick of watching weaklings run this country into the ground because the strong won't assert themselves and take control. The government's a joke, and I don't think it's funny anymore."

He turned away from her and paced up the length of the room, looking every inch the dangerous predator he was.

"Why were you able to defeat your opponents during the Bakumatsu, Zetsumei Kurohyou?"

She narrowed her eyes at his back, unsure why such a question was being asked. He continued before she could come up with an answer; he wanted her to listen, not talk.

"You killed your targets because you were stronger than they were. They were weak, and they died. You were strong, so you lived. That is the natural order of the world: the weak die and the strong survive. This pathetic government we live under is an offense against nature. I intend to set this right.

"Imagine any scene in nature and tell me that I am mistaken. Is it unnatural when a panther kills its weaker prey? Is it unnatural when the hawk claims its next meal from the weaker animals? No; it's not. The weak exist to serve the strong, be it as food or as slaves. Why should we humans be any different?

"You and I are strong, Zetsumei Kurohyou. Each of us has survived things that would have killed a weak man; each of us has dipped our hands in the blood of the weak to assert our dominance over them. Our names are feared by the weaklings who run this country, and soon they will be feared by all.

"I want you to help me take over the government of Japan."

He turned to face her then, a maniacal fire burning brightly in his eyes. Her flesh shivered and twitched under that look like a horse trying to rid itself of disgusting insects. His face was twisted into a disturbing expression: one formed of the hopes of an insane dream coming to be a reality, as well as the expectance of her acceptance of his dream as her own.

It only took her eighteen words to wipe that look off his face.

"You truly are an arrogant bastard. Why should I risk my life in pursuit of an insane ideal?"

The temperature in the room seemed to rise exponentially almost immediately.

"Tell me, Shishio, how exactly were you planning to run Japan after you dispose of those in power? Through fear? Propaganda to make the people believe that the murder of several dozen key political figures was necessary for the betterment of the country? When the economy plummets in response to the collapse of the government, how did you plan on keeping Japan from becoming bankrupt, and thereby putting it at risk of foreign invasion?

"Do you know anything of what is required to run a government, or to keep a country afloat? Were you arrogantly planning on single-handedly building a brand new, untried government from the ashes of the old and forcing it on the citizens of Japan? How will you enforce laws if you have no police? How will you defend this country, and yourself, if you have no military willing to fight for you?

"Are you planning on plunging this country into the kind of chaos it has not known in the past ten years, just to get revenge?"

No reply was made to her numerous questions, but then she hadn't really expected one. With all the not-so-subtle insults she was throwing at him, Midori was actually somewhat surprised not to have Shishio's _katana_ inches from her throat.

Slowly, she let a grin stretch her lips, the same grin she wore during her fight with Saito.

"You are such a stupid arrogant bastard."

_Katana _still in hand, she turned her back on her former ally and reached again for the door handle.

Barely a second later, the breath was forced from her lunges with an audible "umph!" as she was shoved into the wood of the door. Her sword arm, her left arm, was restrained by a gloved hand as was the other; the weight of an abnormally hot body pressed her own into the unyielding portal as her still-mending shoulder screamed in protest.

"I don't remember saying you could leave," Shishio murmured, his hot breath washing over the side of her face in a way that made her want to gag.

"I don't remember asking permission," Midori snarled back, scrambling to find purchase with her feet so that she could get him off her.

Hefting her weight up, she let herself hang from her pinned arms for a moment before planting her feet on the door in front of her and heaving backwards. Shishio, caught off guard, fell back; she fell with him to end up sprawled on his chest on the floor, coughing as she wretched herself free of his grip and rolled to the side.

Awkwardly crab-walking backwards, she quickly put some space between them as Shishio rose to his feet. Droplets of blood peppered the floor as she retreated from his advancing figure; the coughs wracked her body and soon turned her face bright red from lack of air. Her back foot came in contact with the wall and a grin split Shishio's face.

"You're going the wrong way for the door, little panther," he sniggered. He was right, of course; the exit was now located behind him, as Midori had scuttled in the opposite direction in her haste to get away from Shishio. If Midori wasn't currently occupied with not choking on her own blood, she would make his ears bleed with what she would like to say to him at the moment.

"While you're just sitting there choking, try to pay attention. You never gave me the chance to answer any of your questions.

"Firstly, a killer of your caliber should know by now that fear is the best way to go. If I make myself into the most feared man in all Japan, surrounded by swordsmen of terrifying and lethal skill, nobody's going to question me about how many of those worthless politicians I decide to gut. Fear, my dear partner, will be the ground work for the new Japan which will be carved in my image and by my sword.

"I may be an arrogant bastard, but I'm not an imbecile. Later I'll introduce you to Hoji, the man who will be aiding me in the rebuilding of a strong government. He's a disillusioned politician himself; Hoji knows exactly how the Meiji government works and exactly who needs to die to bring it to its knees. I've had ten years to plan this, Kurohyou; did you really expect me to take any chances that this would not work perfectly?

"The economy is already in tatters. The Meiji relies too heavily on foreign support for goods; Japan's goods are next to forgotten. When we leave here I'll be taking you to my petroleum factory near Kyoto; _that_ is to be the staple in Japan's economy when I take control. With natural gas factories all over Japan, we'll cut off the exports and watch as the country prospers under its own power.

"And as for your final question…"

Shishio had stopped directly in front of her now; his black boots sparkled with her blood as she continued to cough, clutching her chest. He crouched down and wound the fingers of one hand into her high tail of hair, pulling her face up to meet his gaze; jerking, she managed to rest her blade on the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

"I'd be willing to see the entire nation of Japan go up in flames if it meant getting my revenge. A little chaos will work just fine for me.

"Get…get away…from me!" she rasped, flecking his too-close face with her blood. He ignored her, red eyes skimming from her face to her chest and back again. A cloth covered eyebrow rose in question.

"What the hell happened to you, little panther?" he muttered, bringing his free hand up as though to cup her cheek.

_Oh, __**hell **__no._

Quickly angling her blade, Midori jerked it back towards her while pressing down, cutting a deep slash into Shishio's neck. He yelled out in pain and anger, his arm twitching back reflexively and tugging Midori's hair with it. She snarled, swinging diagonally at him and catching him across the chest. Blood seeped from the cut, staining his pure bandages crimson. Her hair was release and she fell forward to lie on the floor.

Gods, her shoulder hurt. She felt so light headed, so damned tired of this. Of everything. She just wanted to get away from this crazy man and go to sleep.

Vaguely, she registered the presence of others as she drifted on the edges of dreams and nightmarish reality.

"Shishio-sama! Are you alright? You're bleeding…"

"I'm fine, Yumi. Soujiro, is Anji around?"

"Yes, Shishio-sama."

"Good. Tell him to meet me in the infirmary in twenty minutes. Then get ready to greet our visitors. Tell the others to get moving for Kyoto; we'll meet them there in a few days."

Weakly, Midori struggled to get back to her feet, shaking her head in a futile attempt clear it. Raising her upper body slightly off the floor, she caught a glimpse of Soujiro's back as he again exited the room and shut the door behind him. Shishio stood with his back to her, an arm wrapped possessively around the whore's waist. The woman sighed, tilting her head to let it rest on Shishio's shoulder.

"Does this mean that you want to take this…woman to Kyoto with us, Shishio-sama?" The woman's words dripped with disgust at the very idea.

Shishio moved slightly away from his whore, glancing back to where Midori was now crouching on the floor; surprise flitted across his face for an instant before smug approval took its place.

"Yes. I think she could be of great use to us in Kyoto. Especially once the Battousai arrives."

_Battousai…Himura…_

Her arms would no longer support her upper body. She fell back to the floor, blood dripping down in two identical trails from her mouth to her chin, as Shishio's whore laughed; the musical sound seemed to float towards her from a great distance.

"You think he will play with this sad little kitten, Shishio-sama? Why would he waste his time when he has a much more appropriate adversary in you?"

Hot arms lifted her limp form and cradled her against a hotter chest. Her ear buzzed with a rumbling chuckle as she was carried through the hazy surroundings.

"Oh, I think this cub will be more than a match for the Battousai….All we have to do is get rid of the depression…and let out the anger she's repressed for the last decade."

More laughter; something wet and slimy ran across her chin, lapping at the trails of blood.

"Yes, I think our little panther will handle the Battousai just fine…"

_A/N: Please review, and as I said last chapter, if you want a better understanding of Midori and Shishio's relationship, take a peek at the one-shot "Death and the Messenger": a collaboration between myself and the exceedingly talented Tomas the Betrayer._


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

_Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori was my idea._

* * *

_She is beautiful._

_Makoto Shishio gestures for the quiet, hulking monk to leave the room. He makes his way to the woman's bedside and sits comfortable in the armchair placed there on his orders. He wants to take every opportunity he can to be around his little panther, to get to know her better, to force her to trust him. He is a master of manipulation; his little panther will not say no to him again if he has anything to do with it._

_Gods, she is so beautiful._

_As well as the new bandage on her right shoulder, Anji had added bandages around her breasts; no doubt the fallen monk wished to shield his patients' virtue in the presence of so many men. There was no need for his concern; Shishio has already issued blanket orders that the panther is off-limits to everyone. Slow torture is promised to any man foolish enough to disregard said orders; and that's after Kurohyou gets done with them._

_Beautiful._

_He forces his fingers under the tight bandages; strokes the wound that had her spewing her sweet blood in his face. It's identical to the one he sewed up for her a decade ago in that miserable little hut near Kyoto; he wonders who inflicted such a wound on her, and why, and if the person is still alive so that he can torture them for her, make them scream for mercy as their blood stains his gloves and bandages and mouth and tongue….He'll make her tell him when she wakes up._

_Beautiful._

_There are many things Shishio plans on making her tell him. Her name, for starters -- her glorious, mysterious name that has eluded all his searches for so many years. Shishio is going to learn that name from her lips as soon as she opens those haunting green eyes, and then forbid her from ever telling anyone else ever again. _He _will be her masterallyloverslave – _he_ is the only one worthy of speaking her true name._

_Beautiful._

_She is his now. __**HIS. **__No one will separate him from the woman who will soon become his greatest weapon. She will help him destroy this mockery of a nation and erect a proud Japan from the ashes. Her katana will be his to command; her soul his to sully with his madness – oh yes, the madness she helped birth when she spent six months nursing his ruined body back to life, the madness that drives him consumes him makes him feel _alive – _as he sees fit; her body will lay with him at night, bringing and receiving pleasure and pain, pain and pleasure until they both just __**scream**__ and explode and fly in a thousand different direction, like they did a decade ago after her best friend nearly cut her heart in two._

_So beautiful._

_Her mind will be so much fun to break; his breath quickens at the ideas already buzzing around in his head. Drive her to the brink of sanity and then reel her in like a freshly caught fish. Force her to spar with him and cut her till she bleeds, then hold her down and lap up every drop of that sweet sweet blood. Put her in charge of torture and force her to cut his own men to pieces while he watches. Let Soujiro work his magic until she can't tell what's right or wrong, good or bad; until the only beliefs she has left are those he plans to instill in her._

_So fucking beautiful._

_And as for her heart…that glorious, icy thing that has better fortifications than those used at Edo Castle during the Boshin Wars…_

_He's going to sink his teeth so deeply into her heart that someday he's going to shake her awake from a hellish nightmare and it's going to be his name on those full, quivering lips, not that weak bastard Battousai's._

* * *

Midori jerked awake with a shout, the screams of her victims still echoing in her ears. She tried to sit up, only to be restrained by a pair of strong, gloved hands on the ends of well-bandaged arms.

"Calm down, _nakama_. It was just a dream."

Her eyes met those of Makoto Shishio, leaning over her as she lay in some strange bed and holding her down as she struggled to pull away from him. Before her mind could fully process this, Shishio swung his leg up and over her to straddle her hips; his hands caught her fists in his firm grasp, pinning her to the mattress on which she lay. Intense shock froze her in place as she gazed up at him.

"Are you going to calm down, _nakama_?" he growled; his scarlet eyes were glowing with some strange light that sent shivers coursing through Midori just as his voice caused her skin to twitch. This twitching brought her state of dress directly to her attention. Or rather, her state of _un_dress. Once again she found herself in a somewhat intimate position with a man in only her breast-bindings and her _hakama. _Damn it.

"Get off me," she hissed, her voice only slightly louder than a whisper. Shishio grinned.

"I don't think so, _nakama. _I've got a few things I want to ask you; it'll be easier for both of us if you're not trying to kill me while I talk."

Midori felt her face heat with anger and embarrassment. He intended to question her? While restraining her _half naked underneath him on a bed?! _That bastard!

"Ask your questions then!" she snapped in a raspy half-shout; she would kill for some water at the moment.

For a long moment he said nothing, merely stared down at her furious visage from a distance of barely a foot; his cloth covered thumbs began stroking circles into her wrists as she squirmed beneath him. Her shoulder throbbed in protest until she stilled again, fuming at her lack of options and cursing her captor to hell.

"First question, _nakama_," Shishio began abruptly. "What is your given name?"

A smirk graced her chapped lips.

"You have yet to earn my trust, Makoto Shishio," she mocked, placing heavy emphasis on the individual syllables of his name. "I do not give my name to those that I do not trust. Next question, _**gokuri.**_"

He glared at her choice of words; his grip on her wrists tightened until it was painful as he leaned down even closer.

"You will tell me your name," he breathed; the air expelled from his lungs was so hot Midori felt sweat bead where it brushed over her skin. The heat of his body was so overwhelming it was nearly suffocating.

"Of course I will," she snarked, "and hell will freeze over and the _shinigami_ will dance before us wearing pink women's kimonos."

They glared at each other for a long moment. Midori hated that her cheeks were so hot; knowing that she was blushing at their positions and wishing she could move enough to buck him off. She was pissed that he thought he had a right to question her like she was some lowly subordinate. But more than that, she was extremely embarrassed to be so scantily clothed with this man so close to her.

At last Shishio released his grip on her wrists and removed himself from her person. Slowly she sat upright in the bed, subconsciously pulling the sheets up to modestly cover her chest. Her eyes flittered across the room; its walls were painted a blinding white that made her blink at the brightness. Several other beds were placed along the white walls up and down the length of the room, all unoccupied.

A bandaged hand brushed against Midori's face, scaring her half out of her wits. She flinched away from it. A sigh rang out in the white room.

"Still not a touchy woman, huh?" Shishio murmured, hand still outstretched towards her.

"Where is my _gi_? My satchel?" she asked, disgusted at herself for the slight tremble in her words. Apparently Shishio had _not _lost his ability to shake her.

A fresh black _gi _was tossed in her lap. Looking up, she watched as her patched old satchel was placed in the empty chair by her bedside before Shishio snagged another chair from one of the other beds and plunked it down by hers. His eyes met hers as he sat, and she hastily looked away. Being careful of her stiff shoulder Midori pulled on the _gi, _reaching under the sheet to tuck it into her _hakama._

"Where'd you get all that money?"

Midori's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she glanced at her companion. "What are you talking about?"

"We found a drawstring pouch hidden in your sleeve; it was stuffed full of money. Where'd you get it?"

Midori's heart started pounding overtime. Shit, what should she say? She didn't want to tell him the truth; what lie should she use? If she admitted to how she had earned that money it would lead to a line of questions she didn't want to have to answer.

_No way _was she admitting to being a hired killer. Not to Shishio, not to anyone else.

Shishio suddenly barked a laugh, and Midori realized that she was staring at him with her thoughts plain on her face. _Kuso_.

"You wouldn't be preparing to lie to me, would you, _nakama?" _he snickered; crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back to slouch comfortably in his chair. "Would it kill you just to answer the question? What'd you do, sell yourself as a sex slave?

For a moment she seriously considered throttling the bastard. How dare he accuse her of prostitution?!

"Don't give me that look, woman; can you not appreciate a joke? Where did you get the money?"

A joke, was it? In her opinion it would be quite funny to see the look on his face when she cut that overused tongue out of his big mouth.

"I worked for it," she replied shortly, pushing the sheet she had previously been clutching off her legs and swinging them over the side of the bed. "Where is my _katana_?"

"Safe."

She stared at him, waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, she prompted, "Safe where?"

"You don't need to know. There's no reason for you to have your blade right now. When the need arises I will loan it –"

She was on her feet and inches from his face in an instant.

"Do not think to play games with me, Shishio," she snarled, hands clenching into tight fists at her side. She must not hit him. She must not strike Makoto Shishio. She must not –

"If you didn't look so arousing when angered, perhaps I wouldn't enjoy my games so much."

Every instinct in her being was screaming at her to kill him. If she'd had a blade in her hands, Makoto Shishio would have been chopped meat at her feet. Oh, that _bastard._

"Where. Is. My. _Katana."_ Each word was stated as its' own sentence; it was not a question any longer. It was a demand for information. She knew it shouldn't anger her like this, she knew he was only toying with her – but it was her blade. It was the blade her master had wielded; the blade that had ended countless lives in her hands; _her blade._ You do not mess with Zetsumei Kurohyou's _katana._

"Tell me your name and I'll give it back," Shishio replied, reaching out yet again as if to touch her face. She jerked back, stepping away as a growl rolled out of her chest in warning. He frowned at her in a disapproving manner before sighing heavily.

"You've been out for three days, _nakama_. If I'd wanted to kill you I would have done so by now instead of having you taken care of. I'm not going to hurt you, alright? I just want to touch you."

Perverted bastard. She glared fiercely at him as he stepped towards her; she matched his movements by stepping away. Midori's eyes scanned the room in search of a door – which of course was located behind the man currently backing her into a corner. _Kuso._

"Stop running away from me," he hissed softly, almost crooning at her as she came into contact with the wall. Midori was infinitely thankful that for whatever reason, the crazy man was not wearing his _katana _at his hip; she was in an extremely vulnerable position already and did not need the business end of a weapon at her throat.

"I wouldn't need to run if you would cease your pursuit," she snapped back, hating herself for the weakness of her voice and the way her knees were shaking with the strain of staying upright after three full days spent in bed. Her reflexes had yet to recover, as was demonstrated when Shishio was able to catch her wrists in his hands and pin them firmly to the wall behind her.

"Relax, _nakama,"_ he ordered as she struggled feebly against his hold. Slowly he leaned his head forward to rest on her left shoulder, his abnormally hot breath searing her neck as he sighed yet again. "Why are you getting so upset? It's me, woman; I've touched you a lot more intimately than just a hand on your cheek."

She felt her face redden at his words and wanted to kill him. _Why _did he have to remind her of that? She attempted to bring her knee up to maim him, but Shishio shifted to stand between her legs so that his…pride was safe from her wrath. He shifted again, and Midori found herself being pressed against him in a bruising hug.

"Smile for the audience, _nakama,"_ he whispered in her ear as he crushed her body to his. At the same time, a startled gasp had her jerking her head in the direction of the door to meet the lavender eyes of Shishio's whore.

"How dare you accost Shishio-sama in such a manner?" the woman shrieked – somehow still managing to sound elegant and ladylike – as she rushed across the room towards them. Midori wanted to smack her. _She _accost _Shishio?_ Was the woman blind? He had Midori pinned to a wall, for Kami's sake!

"When did you begin associating with stupid people?" she grumbled, wriggling in his too-tight grip. He chuckled as he released her; she immediately got around him and away from the wall so that he wouldn't be able to pin her again so easily.

A stinging in her cheek a moment later was the only indication to the slap delivered by the other woman. She looked at her incredulously as her assailant stood before her, chest heaving angrily as glares were exchanged. Shishio grinned, but said nothing.

"Did you just…strike me?" Midori asked. The woman didn't answer, merely glared fiercely.

A moment later the glare was gone as the woman found herself dangling in the air by the material of her low-cut kimono, which was bunched up in Midori's clenched fist.

Midori was aware that she did not look physically strong. She was of average height for a woman; skin tanned from long hours in the sun like a field slaves'; and somewhat thin. During the Bakumatsu, she had used other people's view of her against them as she killed; no one ever expected to be gutted by a skinny little girl, did they? No one expected a waif with a blade to cut their heads off or dismember them, did they?

Apparently – judging by the annoying screeching issuing from her mouth - this woman had not expected a waif with a newly healed hole in her shoulder to dangle her in the air with her bad arm.

"The last time a woman struck me," Midori growled, her eyes locked on the woman's face, "I broke her nose. Perhaps I should break your neck? That would rid me of your presence entirely, and would assure that you did not make the mistake of striking me again. What do you think, woman? Are you prepared to die?"

The woman continued her high-pitched screaming as she attempted to turn her head to beseech Shishio for help. Instead Midori jerked her entire body to the side and then back, so that her captive turned fearful eyes back to her.

"If I wanted to kill you the _kaji-jin _over there would not be able to stop me. You should remember that the next time you decide to hit me, _ikeike**."**_

And she tossed the woman into Shishio's waiting arms.

She stalked towards the door, ignoring the whore's screeched insults. She was about to open said door and make for an exit when the door was opened from the outside; incidentally, she did not have the time needed to react before a man ran right into her, nearly knocking her over.

"Easy there, _shisuta-chan._ Where d'ya think yer goin'?"

Holy _gods. What _was wrong with this man's _hair?_

Midori's eyes passed right over the new mans' odd clothing and numerous _katanas_ and focused on the monstrosity that was his hair. She had thought at one time that no one could possess a funnier hairstyle than one Sanosuke Sagara. Sanosuke, with his rooster hair that always made her smile. However, what she was currently seeing proved her wrong a million times over. It honestly looked as though someone had taken the business end of a broom and somehow attached it to this man's head.

Sanosuke would have laughed himself silly.

Midori was seriously tempted to call him _houki-hitsu _just to see his reaction.

"Hey, what're ya starin' at, _shinsuta-chan_? Ya better not be starin' at ma hairstyle! Dammit, why's that all tha women ever notice 'bout me? Ain't ma face pretty enough fer ya?"

His voice, Midori noticed as he fumed in front of her, was of the Kansai region. It was truthfully almost as funny as his hairstyle.

It was then that one of the hilts poking over his back caught her attention, and all humor immediately died a violent death. The broom-headed bastard was wearing _her katana._ He was going to _die. _A very_ slow _and_ painful _death.

A snarl tore through her clenched teeth as she closed her fingers around the newcomers' throat, sending them both crashing to the ground. She straddled the cursing mans' stomach, using one hand to cut off his air supply and the other to reach for her _katana. _A bandage clad hand closed over her wrist as she grasped the hilt of her weapon, stopping her from drawing her blade as another hand pressed down on her wounded shoulder hard enough to cause stars to dance before her eyes.

"That's not exactly a proper way to greet your new subordinates, _nakama,"_ a voice practically purred in her ear as she struggled to free her wrist from the iron grip restraining it. Fatigue and weakness brought about by her extended period of unconsciousness made her attempts futile. Her weakened right arm was knocked from the broom-heads' throat, which allowed him to wriggle his way out from under her and back to his feet. She in turn was jerked to her feet and held firmly against an insanely hot body.

"What tha hell was that fer!" the weirdly dressed man choked out, massaging his abused throat while shooting Midori withering looks as she struggled weakly against Shishio's restraining arms. She found herself being moved forward, her legs dragging under her as she scrambled to find purchase with them. The broom-head moved aside as she was literally dragged from the room, snarling and cursing as she went.

"What the hell are you doing, you bastard!? That man has my _katana_! Let me go at once, damn you! I am going to reclaim my blade! Dammit, Shishio, let me go!"

Her demand was ignored as Shishio dragged her to what appeared to be a bedroom. He kicked the door shut behind him, not seeming to notice or care that his woman had been right behind him and about to enter the room as he did so. Abruptly he released Midori, who immediately spun to face him warily as he leaned casually against the closed door, blocking her first choice of an exit.

"Why does that man have my _katana_?" she demanded. Shishio's red eyes narrowed in amusement at her tone; she was struggling to stay standing after the amount of pressure he had put on her wound to get her off his subordinate, and yet her voice was lethal. Somewhat like a kitten snarling at a rabid dog.

"Relax, _nakama_," he growled; she assumed that the tone of his voice was supposed to be soothing, and then wondered why in the hell Makoto Shishio was trying to soothe her. "Chou is keeping your precious blade safe under my orders. I'll collect it for you in the morning, along with your other belongings. If you tell me your name, I'll get the maids to draw a hot bath for you now; otherwise you'll just have to wait for tomorrow."

She answered him with silence, clenching her trembling hands into fists.

"Your choice, _nakama_." He sounded so smug as he turned and exited the room, locking it behind him.

Midori sank to the floor, the tremors in her hands now wracking her whole body as fatigue pulled at her. She was weak, unarmed, in an unfamiliar building in an unknown location. A madman was referring to her as 'partner' and had been taking care of her unconscious form for three days instead of killing her like she thought he would. He wanted answers to questions that were none of his fucking business; questions she had no intention of ever examining with anyone.

Shishio wanted to know her name.

Her skin was still flinching from where he had touched her.

She decided that she had been right during the Bakumatsu: she had seriously bad luck on partners.

* * *

"_What is your name?"_

_They are sitting in his room in the inn, both freshly cleansed of the blood of others; both trying desperately not to show signs of the strain they are under. Empty sake jugs litter the floor around them; they are both extremely tipsy. He is sitting with his back propped against the wall near the door while she is sprawled on the floor by his feet. It is the third time in three months that they have met after assignments to get drunk on nasty sake that tastes like blood to both of them and talk about everything. Many things are said in such nights, and each knows the other far better than is normal for two people who have only been acquainted for a quarter of a year. _

_Tonight Himura is going for blood._

"_Why would I want to tell you that?" she quips, raising the sake jug to her mouth and taking a long swig. Her hand is shaking slightly, but she hopes that her companion will pass it off as an effect of the liquor she has consumed._

_Himura cocks his head to the side; it is one of the amazingly innocent habits he retains despite his job that gives her something to tease him about._

"_Don't friends normally tell each other their names?"_

_The smirk dies from her lips as she turns her head away from him to stare morosely at the ceiling._

"_You know, I'm not really the right person to ask that kind of question," she mumbles, her voice slightly slurred from the amount of sake she has downed. "I've never had a friend before."_

_She doesn't tell him that the villagers in the area where she lived with her Myoushu would run in fright as she approached them, making the signs to protect themselves from evil spirits. She doesn't tell him about the whispers that followed her everywhere – about people calling her devil spawn, evil, wrong; about the time her master saved her from having her eyes gouged out by a bunch of frighten religious zealots._

_Himura's face blocks her view of the ceiling as he hovers awkwardly over her on the floor, his unbound red hair framing both their faces._

"_C'mon," he teases, his own voice showing his level of inebriation. "Don't you count me as a friend? I thought you were my best friend, Zetsumei Kurohyou."_

_She winces; she hates having him call her that. Her new title sits uneasily on her shoulders, along with the disdainful envy and outright hatred of some of the men she works with. She hears their whispers about her late at night; the rumors and insults and stupid drunken fears. They call her a whore; they call her a demon sent from Hell. Her enemies may have originally gifted her with her title, but it is her allies that call her that to her face._

_She does not want to hear those words from this boy._

"_You know something, Himura?" she muses, reaching up to tug gently on his long red bangs. "We need some nicknames. I'm tired of calling you Himura all the time, and when I tell you my name, you're going to have to find something else to call me; I don't want anybody else to know my real name. Bunch of cowards don't deserve to know. Got that, Himura?"_

_He nods as best he can with her hand still tugging lightly on his hair, his own hands braced on either side of her to keep him from lying on her._

"_I think I'm going to call you ninjin, 'cause your hair always reminds me of carrots," she pronounces, grinning hugely at the look of horror that flairs to life on his face. "It's okay, 'mura. I'll just call you that in private. Promise."_

"_You better," he growls, leaning over to whisper threateningly in her ear. "Or else I'll call you koneko in front of everyone just to embarrass you."_

_Annoyed, she reaches up and smacks him across the face. She grins as he tumbles backwards, and then starts giggling hysterically at the silly look of amazement on his face._

"_Told you I'd break your jaw if you don't stop calling me that," she informs him smugly, dragging her half-numb, boozed-out body over to his sprawled form and settling her head on his shoulder with a sigh. His arms go around her in a loose embrace, and for a while they simply stare into space, each deep in drunken ponderings._

"_What about kabu? Would that be acceptable, or do I need to start dodging your half-hearted punches?"_

_She grins into his shoulder as she gives a noise of assent, mind foggy with the booze and the need for sleep._

"_M'real name's Midori," she murmurs softly, her eyes drifting shut as Himura draws her into a more comfortable position against his chest. She burrows into his warmth and listens absently to her only friends' heartbeat._

"_You can't be a monster," Midori mumbles sleepily. "You have a heartbeat. Monsters don't have hearts."_

_He rests his head on top of hers, feeling his own body falling asleep. He smiled lopsidedly at nothing._

"_Thank you, Midori."_

_She grunts in annoyance and lifts sleepy green eyes to his face inches from her own._

"_What are you thanking me for, baka? I have a friend now; I've never been so happy in my whole damn life," she grouches. "I should be thanking you."_

_Again she closes her eyes and snuggled against his chest. "But I'll still gut you if you tell anybody else my name, ninjin."_

_Chuckles from Himura are the last thing she hears before her nightmares claim her._

* * *

_A/N: As always, reviews are greatly appreciated._


	15. Chapter 14

_Chapter 14_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori is my idea._

* * *

_"When do you want it done?"_

_The fat man sits surrounded by his bodyguard and leers at her. Where it not for the large payday he offers she would gut him and be on her way. However, the job he wants done is pathetically simple; she has no intention of passing up quick money._

_"Hmmm," the man strokes the topmost of his numerous chins as he grins at her, showing many teeth missing. "What'd you think boys? Three days for the little girl to bring us Yashimora's head in a bag? Or should we be generous and give her more time?"_

_Chuckles reverberate throughout the room. They are amused, these men, that a woman would come forward for the job that all of them combined could not complete. Apparently this 'Yashimora' was the strongest of the opposing syndicate leaders in this corrupt little city. None of them expect for her to have any luck._

_She walks out with a week-away deadline. The men make bets among themselves as to how soon they will find her body._

_She walks back in an hour later with Yashimora's head in a bag; it drips blood on the floor as she stands before the fat yakuza leader and the sorry excuses for bodyguards. She tosses it to the man standing to the yakuza leader's immediate left and watches as he drops it, gagging. Several of the men have already emptied the contents of their stomachs due to the smell of the blood._

_It has been more years than she cares to remember since the last time the scent of blood sickened her._

_The woman collects her pay from the terrified men and heads to the nearest well to clean up. The women of the town stare at her in morbid fascination as she draws a bucket of water and begins to wash the dead man's blood from her. As she dumps the remainder of the bucket over her head and shakes the wet hair from her eyes, a small boy breaks from the crowd and runs in her general direction, chased by two men. Terrified, the boy runs for the nearest place to hide: behind her legs._

_"Out of the way, woman! Give us the brat!"_

_She wipes a hand across her face, clearing it of the excess water, and both men freeze. She vaguely recognizes them as two of the men who vomited when she returned to their boss for her pay. From the looks on their faces it is clear that they have recognized her as well. She looks at them disinterestedly, aware that the boy is clutching the leg of her black hakama in his shaking hands._

_"What do you want?" The pair flinches at the sound of her voice. The one who spoke before nudges his companion forward, clearly indicating that it's his friends turn to talk. The second man edges towards her fearfully, pointing a shaky finger at the boy hiding behind her._

_"That – that kid works for our boss," he explains, his voice trembling. "He – h-h-he owes us m-m-money for a debt his parents ran up. He's late on a payment and…"_

_His words trail of as he gets a look at the expression on her face. Slowly she lowers her eyes to glance at the boy in question. He looks back with eyes that are too old for his too-thin face, tears and sweat glistening on his skin. His lower lip is split; blood drips in a line down his bony chin. The boy can't be more than six years old._

_"Onee-sama?" he whimpers, clutching tighter to her leg._

_She says nothing, merely gazes down at him in mounting fury. _This _is what she fought for? _This _is what she killed for? So that a child could be gang-pressed into working for mobsters, starved and beaten and abused? So that these –these – these pathetic little _weaklings _could torment a helpless child, and no one would lift a finger to stop them? _This _is the country she has helped create?_

_Wordlessly she scoops the boy up with one arm and heads back toward the yakuza syndicate's building. None of the people in the streets stop her; the guards back away from her in fear as she makes her way to the boss's chambers. The boy is crying into her shoulder, probably thinking that she intends to hand him to the fat son of a pig and walk away._

_The boss is surprised when she walks in._

_"I – I didn't think we had anymore business," he sputters uneasily. His bodyguard shift restlessly around him, eyeing her warily._

_She sets the boy down and crouches beside him, one hand clasped on his skinny little shoulder so that he does not try to run. He is trembling, silent tears coursing down his face. The boss looks from the woman to the boy, and a look of comprehension spreads across his ugly face._

_"Ah, so you were doing me another favor," he preens, leaning back to sit comfortably on his silk cushion. "I'll gladly pay you for this service, okami. This little brat is –"_

_"Why do you have a child working for you?" she snaps, her anger building further at his assumption._

_"Well – his father owed me a debt –"_

_"Then where is his father?"_

_"Dead," the boy whispers; she turns to him as he begins to sob quietly. _

_"Your father is dead?" she asks, her voice gentle. The boy nods, wiping at his face with one dirty fist._

_"He said – that he was going – to fight the bad Shogunates," he sobs. "He – he told me – to be a big boy – and that he'd be back when the bad men were gone."_

_"Where is your mother, outouto?"_

_The boss barks a laugh, quieting instantly when the woman turns her furious gaze back to him._

_"Okaa-chan's here," the boy wails. "Boss-sama – has her here – un-un-until I get – the rest of the money! I want my kaa-chan, onee-sama!" And his skinny little arms are wrapping around her neck as he continues to sob brokenly._

_"Where is his mother?" she hisses out, pulling the child close to her as she glares at the boss._

_"She's paying her portion of the debt," he replies, a sickening smirk tilting the corners of his mouth. By this, of course, he means that he and possibly his men are using the boy's mother as a whore. The woman's hands clench tightly in the boy's clothing as red taints her vision._

_She's going to _slaughter _these sons-of-bitches._

_Turning again to the boy, she takes the hem of his gi in her hands and tears free a strip of cloth. Prying the boy's face away from her neck, she quickly uses the cloth to blindfold the boy despite his protests. She takes both his hands in her and presses them to her cheeks._

_"Listen to me, otouto," she commands, and waits until he gives a hesitant nod to continue. "You are going to sit in this exact spot until I pick you up and take you to your mother. You will cover your ears and loudly recite your favorite bedtime story until I tell you that it is alright to stop. You will not attempt to move or take off the blindfold until I take it off for you when we reach your mother. Do you understand me, otouto?"_

_He gives another trembling nod; she kisses his finger and places his little hands firmly over his ears. As she lets go and stands, pulling out her katana and moving fast towards the nearest bodyguard, she hears his voice fairly shouting._

_"Once, there was a lord among the dog demons who fell in love with a beautiful human princess…"_

_When she flicks the last of the blood off of her blade and re-sheaths it, several rooms away, she can still hear the boy's voice reciting the old story. Making her way back to him takes no time at all, and she is careful to wipe the blood from her hands onto the hakama worn by one of the corpses before touching him. Gently she removes his hands from his ears; his cry is cut short by the sound of her voice._

_"It is alright to stop your story now, otouto. You are safe with me."_

_"Can I take the blindfold off now, onee-sama?" he asks her in a very small voice. She scoops him up and positions his arms so that he can cling to her neck before answering as they exit the room._

_"Not yet, otouto. You must help me find your mother. Let us play a game with her: you will yell as loud as you can for your mother, and we will follow her answering yells to her position. When we find her, you get to put a blindfold on her and then we will all make our way to the street. Do you understand, otouto?"_

_The boy nods._

_"Call for your mother. You may shout as loud as you wish."_

_It does not take long for them to locate the boy's mother. When she slides the shoji open and the mother sees a woman covered in blood, carrying her blindfolded son, her screams scare the little boy badly. The woman quickly hands her the boy and then stops her from removing his blindfold._

_"A child should not be made to see what he would if you removed that," she cautions, tearing a strip of cloth from the mother's kimono sleeve and handing it to the boy. "I will leave the room. Your son is going to remove the blindfold when you tell him I am out of sight and he will then blindfold you. Can you make sure that he replaces his when he is finished?"_

_She leads the trembling mother and her sobbing child through the carnage and back out in the street. A crowd has gathered, and screams go up as people catch sight of the amount of blood on her clothing. The local police come forward; two seconds of silent glaring and they are backing up again as she removes the mother's blindfold and shows her that they are safe._

_"Do not let the boy see me," she instructs. "Wait until I am out of sight before taking his blindfold off. Take him home, imouto. Treasure and protect him. Sayonara."_

_Of the boy she asks, "What is your name, otouto?"_

_"Katsuro." A victorious child. It is a strong name._

_"Take care of your mother, Katsuro. Be brave as your father was brave. Sayonara._

_As she walks away, the boy calls out, "Onee-sama? Onee-sama?"_

_Zetsumei Kurohyou does not answer him and the echoes of his cries follow her for a long time after that._

_Monsters who kill people for money do not get to be big sisters._

* * *

Midori snapped awake, bolting upright on the comfortable futon she had found in her new room the night before. A child's voice rang faintly in her ears even as she stumbled to her feet and staggered stiffly across the room to the small wash basin set on an expensive wooden stand. The room is lavishly furnished, every effort taken to insure the occupant's comfort and peace of mind – except for the fact that the western style wooden door was locked from the outside.

"You look like shit, _nakama_."

Midori turned from the wash basin to glance at the figure in the doorway with a look of utter disdain, annoyed with herself for not hearing the door open.

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" she returned snidely, drying her hands on the towel provided before balling it up and throwing it at him. He easily batted it aside, that annoying smirk stretching his lipless mouth as he entered her room and shut the door behind him. Her worn satchel, which Shishio carried in one hand, was set against the wall near the door. Her _katana _was held gingerly in his other hand.

"How would you like to have a little…spar today?" he asked, his voice oddly subdued for a maniac. He sounded almost hesitant; Midori furrowed her brows in confusion.

"Who would I be sparring with?" Midori had not fought since her short duel with Saito two weeks earlier, had been coughing up blood daily since said last duel, and was still mending from her injury. In her present condition, a friendly spar with this nutcase or one of his subordinates could end up killing her.

"I'm sure some of my followers would be honored to fight my old partner," Shishio responded softly as he stepped towards her. Midori tensed, aware of her vulnerability as he practically stalked her with a _katana_ at his hip and her own in his hand while she was unarmed. Her pride as a person refused to let her back down, so she stood there and glared at him as he came within inches of her. He was slightly taller than she; Midori craned her neck slightly to hold his gaze.

"Do you not have more important things to do than arrange death matches for me?" she asked sarcastically.

"Not really."

"I thought you had some plan to take over Japan."

"I need your help for that, Kurohyou."

"I'm not helping you." She reached for her _katana_ as they spoke, only to have him move it out of her reach with a smirk.

"You'll be using a _bokken_; I can't afford for you to be killing my men. Let's go."

And that was all he said as he turned and once again sauntered out of the room, fully expecting her to follow him.

Midori was not in the mood to be accommodating. She went as far as the door, only to stick her head out into the hall and call out to Shishio's retreating back.

"Perhaps I will disgrace the fools who follow you later. For now I think I'll clean up and put on clean clothing before finding something to eat. I'm sure you can find something to keep busy with; something that does not include taunting me. Be warned that if anything happens to the _katana_ your woman will never be satisfied by you again."

"You'd deny yourself the pleasure you could have just to upset Yumi?" he called back before she shut the door. Her grip on the handle tightened until it was painful. Very carefully, she shut the door and snatched up her satchel. She desperately wanted to throw a temper tantrum, but again her pride wouldn't allow it. Just because Makoto Shishio pissed her off past the point of normal human endurance did not give her leave to act like a child. Besides, he would be immensely amused if he were ever to find out.

She washed and changed quickly; Midori was in no hurry to be in anyone here's presence in a state of undress again – ever – and since the damn door locked on the outside, she fully expected Shishio to barge back in on her, just because he was a bastard and he could. Afterwards she went looking for something to eat, as she'd planned. While walking down the third flight of stairs she tensed at the sensation of being watched. A glance behind her showed the staircase to be empty. She stopped where she was, hairs prickling uncomfortably.

"Come out," Midori called, really wishing she had her blade. She hated feeling so damned vulnerable.

A figure dropped to the floor in front of her. It was a man, dressed in dark ninja garb, who had no doubt been hidden in the rafters of the high ceiling. Midori found herself raising an eyebrow when he knelt before her, fisting his gauntleted right hand over his heart and bowing his head in a gesture of respectful submission.

"What do you want?" she asked brusquely.

His voice, when he answered her, was muffled; partly from the angle at which his head was still bent, and partly from the cloth mask that obscured the bottom half of his face.

"I am Yori, Kurohyou-sama. Shishio-sama has assigned me as your personal bodyguard. I am yours to command."

Oh, for the love of all the gods. Midori had to fight hard not to roll her eyes. Bodyguard? Did Shishio honestly expect her to believe such a pathetic attempt at a lie?

This man was not here to protect her; Midori could think of at least a dozen ways she could kill him right now with her bare hands. There would be only a very small chance that anyone under Shishio's command could go toe-to-toe with her in a fight – be it with a _katana_ or with her bare fists – and come out the victor over her. She needed a bodyguard about as much as she needed a fancy kimono.

This man was her damned _komoroi_ – her _babysitter_.

Midori vowed that she was going to brutally maim Makoto Shishio; the moment she got her _katana_ back and he let his guard down.

* * *

"What are the rules?"

The man across from her was nervous. He was perspiring noticeably and there was a slight tremor in his arms that she did not like.

"What do you mean rules?"

Shishio stood against the wall off to her left, his arm looped around the waist of his woman. That annoying boy, Soujiro, was on the woman's other side; even without looking at him Midori could sense the unnaturally cheerful smile on his face. Otherwise the room - which Midori assumed was a dojo - was empty.

"What are my boundaries?" she clarified, meeting Shishio's red gaze out of the corner of her eye. "What is acceptable and what is not?"

Burnt lips smirked at her. "Don't kill him. That's your only boundary."

Annoyed, Midori adjusted her grip on the hilt of the wooden sword she was stuck using and waited for her opponent to make the first move. He was nervous; he was afraid of her; she would have no problem outlasting him. He was _going_ to make the first move.

He quickly obliged. Pushing off from his back right foot, he lunged at her, clearly aiming for the spot just below her ribs. Easily she deflected his intended blow, using her own footing to force him back and off-balance as she made her own strike, slicing the stick down to connect with his left kneecap. With a sickening _pop_, the joint dislodged before she pivoted on her right foot; bearing down with the stick, Midori struck the dislocated appendage with greater force. The joint resettled with another resounding _pop_. Grunting, her opponent leapt away, now heavily favoring his injured knee. Again she waited.

The next attack was directed for her hip. The man feinted to the right before pushing strongly to the left, going for the side away from her weapon. Again she brought forth her _bokken_ and repelled him with pathetic ease. Twisting her body around his semi-crouched form, Midori hooked a foot around his ankle as she pivoted and again broke his footing, this time sending him sprawling. He was up and at her again almost immediately.

Bending her knees just slightly, Midori was perfectly able to flip over the man when he got close enough; had no trouble twisting in midair, upside-down, and landing a solid blow to the back of the man's neck – just above the man's spinal cord.

He was unconscious before he or Midori either one hit the floor. If Midori had been in possession of a real blade – and not this godsdamned piece of _wood_ that reminded her _far_ too much of an infuriatingly annoying girl and her crazy philosophy on swords – he would have hit the floor dead, his head severed cleanly from his neck.

She landed lightly and stood, twirling the stick idly in her hand.

"This is pointless."

She turned to face Shishio and tossed the bokken at him; he easily caught it in his free hand, still smirking at her. The woman – Yumi – was looking at her with a blend of disbelief and amazement. Soujiro smiled.

Kami, but these people were going to send her over the edge into insanity.

"That was great, Kurohyou-sama!" Soujiro exclaimed in his high voice. He actually applauded. "Maybe you could spar with me sometime. I've never seen that technique before; I'd be delighted if you'd show me again."

"Are you not afraid of me as well?" she asked dully, turning her vibrant green eyes to the now groaning lump on the floor before her. The image of this man's trembling limbs flashed through her mind's eye briefly. She did not even know this man's name and he had been absolutely terrified of her. Granted he was far inferior to her in terms of skill – she could oh-so-easily have killed him with nothing but a glorified stick – but the look in his eyes….It had been a long time since she had last seen that look.

Gods, how she hated it.

"Well, you were kinda scary," the boy conceded cheerfully. He pushed away from the wall and sauntered over to where her previous opponent lay sprawled, that creepy little smile fixed firmly on his lips. Bending, Soujiro grasped the man's arm and hauled him up, wrapping one of his arms around the now semi-conscious man's waist and draping one of the man's own arms around his shoulders.

"But I bet I could beat you, Kurohyou-sama. I don't think it would really be all that hard."

And with that he strolled out of the room as though he hadn't a care in the world, humming softly to himself even as his human burden groaned in pain.

"How did it feel?"

Shishio had come up behind her as she watched Soujiro cart the other man away; she could feel the abnormal heat of his body much too close to her without having to turn around.

"How did what feel?" Midori replied in a flat tone.

"Attacking a weaker man. Proving yourself worthy to be at my side."

Midori shrugged and started to exit the room as Soujiro had done – albeit that was until Shishio was curious enough to hear her answer that he reached out and caught her wrist.

Gods she was tired of life. Her life was so meaningless now. She had no purpose in her life. For ten years she had wandered Japan, hoping to find an answer to a question. It had given her purpose; it had given her a reason to live, even if a painful and lonely life. Living had not been kind to her, and every day she wondered about what kind of sick humor the gods of her fate must have to toy with her so.

Midori had once been told that time heals all wounds. Why then did she still suffer?

"It felt like falling, _nakama_."

Why was she being made to fall when no one would be there to catch her?

* * *

_A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out. I had the whole chapter typed out and saved, but when I tried to_ _upload it my computer ate the file. It took me awhile to retype the stupid thing. Let me know what you think._


	16. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

_Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori is my idea._

* * *

_Zetsumei Kurohyou wants to drink, but she's having some difficulty._

_She sits in a corner of the dining hall while about fifteen of the men she fights with eat; a jug of sake sits next to her. She has been staring into the same cup of liquor for the past hour, has brought it to her lips countless times, but cannot bring herself to actually drink it._

_That…pig had smelt of sake._

_This afternoon she had returned from an assignment early and had been searching the inn for Katsura-sama so that she could give her report. She had interrupted the afternoon meal and asked the inn's prioress if she knew where the man was. As the woman had relayed his whereabouts, a not-so-distant scream had startled both assassin and innkeeper. The innkeeper had rushed from the room; the assassin had hesitated long enough to catch sight of the knowing grins on the faces of several of the dining men's faces._

_She had passed the innkeeper and located the source of the screams in record time, but she had already been too late._

_A beyond-pissed-off killer had pulled one of her fellow soldiers off the sobbing form of a young woman and thrown him against the opposite wall. The innkeeper had burst in moments later to fall to her knees beside the hysteric victim, hastily attempting to straighten the girl's nearly shredded kimono. The girl continued sobbing, latching herself onto the innkeeper and refusing to let go. _

_Zetsumei Kurohyou had taken one look at the girls' bloodied thighs, one look at the half-dressed man lying stunned against a wall on the opposite side of the room, and told the innkeeper to take the girl and leave._

_She had exited the room alone over two hours later, blood splashed over her like paint, and continued her search for Katsura-sama._

_The men in the room with her now are carefully not looking at her; carefully not acknowledging her presence. She's fairly sure that there are only three reasons that someone hasn't attacked her as an idiotic act of retribution yet._

_One: Katsura-sama has issued orders that Zetsumei Kurohyou is not to be harmed in any way, and these men would slit their own throats if Katsura-sama ordered them to._

_Two: These men know full well that the Battousai and Zetsumei Kurohyou would kill for each other. Any man stupid enough to even insult Zetsumei Kurohyou risks being the target of the Battousai's ungodly wrath._

_Three: The last time a group of Ishin Shishi soldiers assaulted Zetsumei Kurohyou, the level of mutilation inflicted on the corpses was such that battle-hardened warriors vomited for hours after viewing the recovered bodies. There had been forty men that time – as opposed to a measly fifteen - and Zetsumei Kurohyou had not had any help during their…punishment. _

_Two years later, and the men that she fights with are still cowed by the memory of what she did to her own comrades._

_However, these men are not quite so cowed that they do not speak among themselves. The sake being served with their meal helps to loosen their tongues and allows them to forget that an assassin's ears are beyond ultra-sensitive. Zetsumei Kurohyou finally downs that first cup of sake and settles back into her corner, listening._

_"…covered in blood, like some kind of fucking monster…"_

_"…cut off his manhood! That bitch actually cut off his manhood and stuffed it down his…"_

_"…sticking her nose where it doesn't belong…"_

_"…thinks she can do whatever she wants and nobody's going to stop her…"_

_"It's not right!" a man hisses rather loudly, finally darting his eyes to her corner; she has narrowed her eyes to slits to give the impression that they are closed, knowing that these men will talk more freely if they think she cannot here them._

"_It's not right," the man says again, speaking to his comrades in a poor imitation of a whisper. "She shouldn't be allowed to go around killing her own men. It's not like today is the first time; do you remember what she did the first year she was here?"_

"_Oh, kami," murmurs a different man, lowering the loaded chopsticks he had been in the process of lifting to his mouth and looking decidedly ill. "The smell…the smell of that building when we went after the bodies was…I cannot find words. It was…unimaginable."_

_As some of the others nod or mutter ascent, a younger boy, perhaps a new recruit, hesitantly asked, "What happened?"_

_The man who had spoken first snorts, reaching for the sake that the inn's employees have left on the low table. The others quiet down, settling in to listen like children about to hear a favorite tale._

_"She goes on assignment one night," the newly appointed storyteller begins. "It was a hire; somebody wanted somebody else dead and asked Katsura-sama if he would loan one of his best assassins. The guy apparently asked for Zetsumei Kurohyou personally. Katsura-sama of course agrees. She goes out; we don't see or hear anything from her for two weeks._

_"I was in this very room when she came back. Eating dinner with Katsura-sama, Battousai, and some of the other men. That door slid open and she was standing there soaked in blood. Some of the boys panicked; stared babbling about ghosts coming to haunt them or some shit. I threw up; I will willingly admit it. There was so much blood on her, like she'd bathed in it with her clothes on. Battousai personally took care of her – I think they fucked, to be honest, we barely saw either of them for weeks afterwards – and Katsura-sama spread the word that she'd been molested and tortured by forty of our own men. And she killed them all. Forty men, and one little girl killed them all by herself. Not only that, but she had the strength after all that shit to butcher two squads of Shinsingumi on her way back here."_

_The speaker takes a deep gulp of the sake he has nursed throughout his recital. The men at the table with him all have looks of equal part disgust and horror on their faces; the young recruit looks as though he is about to be ill._

_"They – they were our men?" he whispers, his voice breaking. "They – they tortured her and – and – molested her – and they were on our side?"_

_"Yeah, so?" the storyteller grouches, obviously not happy with the kid's questions._

_"But – that's wrong!" the youth exclaims. He looks from man to man, as if looking for someone to agree with him, but his comrades look back at him as if he were crazy. "Why would they do that to her!? If she were their ally then they –"_

_"Who gives a shit about her, kid?" the now drunken storyteller interrupts, slamming the jug down angrily. "She's a freak. A fucking monster. No _woman_ can do the things she does; they're not strong enough. No fucking way does a _normal_ woman kill forty men single-handed. No way does a normal woman kill _anyone_, ever. Zetsumei Kurohyou's racked up more kills than even the Battousai; no fucking way is she human. She's a monster, and she deserved what she got for being a monster."_

_It's good that Himura is in the midst of a battle and therefore absent; he would have killed the storyteller by now and Midori would be out of amusement._

_The storyteller pokes angrily at his meal with a pair of chopsticks for a moment as the young man gaps at him. Finally tossing the chopsticks down, he leans over the table until he was right in the young man's space. His voice, when he speaks, is clearly meant to intimidate._

_"The man she killed today was my best friend, boy. He was my best friend and she killed him for no damn reason. So what if he was fucking that whore? All the girls that work here are whores, that's all a working woman's good for anyway. That bitch killed him, and I'm going to make her pay for that. Zetsumei Kurohyou had better learn to sleep with her eyes open –" he glanced again to her corner, where she still sat with eyes narrowed to slits "- because one day she might not wake up."_

_Learn how to sleep with her eyes open._

_The stupid fool says this when she's sitting here pretending to be asleep in the first place._

_She really can't help it; she bursts into laughter._

_The deadly, feared, infamously ruthless killer throws back her head and practically howls with laughter as the men give shouts of surprise; some of them jump to their feet and yank out their blades. She's so amused by the idiot's threat that she doesn't even glare at them. She simply continues to laugh until tears start to build._

_Shaking her head, Zetsumei Kurohyou climbs to her feet, still chuckling. She gathers her katana and the sake jug before turning back to the now extremely pale storyteller, a positively huge grin stretching her face._

_"If you wish to attempt to kill me, do so while sober," she advices him, sauntering casually towards the table; the men shy away like she is diseased. "If you are drunk I will hear your foolish boasting miles away."_

_She walks straight up to the boy who had defended her, gives him a large smirk, and presses her sake jug into his surprised hands._

_"If you are to be subjected to such terrible boasting all night, I would advocate getting drunk; even a small amount of liquor can make this baka behind me seem humorous. Thank Kami for sake, yes?"_

_She doesn't even wait for the young man's reply. She turns and leaves the room, laughing all the while._

_As if any of those idiots could even scratch her with a blade. Hilarious._

* * *

"What exactly did I do that I deserve this punishment, _nakama_?" Midori inquired dryly, shooting a very displeased glance at the broom-headed moron that she was about to accompany elsewhere. Shishio grinned.

"I just want you to keep an eye on Chou," he clarified; as if as a peace offering he held her _katana_ out to her. She snatched it before he could draw it away.

"That's what you said about the sparring lessons," Midori snapped, tying her sheathed weapon across her back. "All I was supposed to do was make sure none of your supporters overdid anything. Just one time. That was two weeks ago; how many sparring lessons does today make?"

It had taken hours of threats and bribes and taunts for Midori to cave and agree to sit in during the sparring sessions Shishio forced his men to attend every day for several hours. She had demanded the use of her blade for these sessions and the removal of the ninja who had previously followed her everywhere; Shishio had made her swear not to kill anyone. She was still sure he had gotten the better end of the deal.

"Oh, stop complaining, woman," Shishio commanded in that annoyingly arrogant voice she hated. "Just go clean the blood off and change. I need you to go with Chou; you're going."

Midori immediately bristled. "Fuck off. We have had this conversation, Shishio: I am _not_ your inferior. I am _not_ one of your subordinates that will jump at your command. Do not presume to order me around."

A lanky arm draped itself around her shoulders as a loud, obnoxious voice yelled in her ear.

"Aw, c'mon! Ya know ya wanna go with me, _shisuta_-_chan_! Doncha' wanna get outa this stuffy ol' hideout and breathe the fresh air? Doncha' wanna go do somethin' excitin'? I wancha' ta see this _katana_ I'm gonna go grab! Ya cain't see it if ya ain't with me!"

Midori gritted her teeth. Annoying; that was the best word with which to describe Cho Sawagejo. Or perhaps clingy would be a more fitting description. No matter how many times over the last two weeks she had bruised him, the broom-haired man refused to respect her personal space. She glared murderously at Shishio, who grinned impishly back.

"You may as well just go change, _nakama_," he announced, turning away and heading the opposite direction down the hall in which they stood. "You're going. Try to have some fun."

Insufferable bastard.

Midori was in a foul mood as Cho led her into the nearby town. To her immense ire, he had informed her that while she changed, Shishio had given him orders to blindfold her before they left. It wasn't like the stupid thing served any purpose: by scrunching up her nose she had been able to clear a space for her to see enough to know exactly where they were at all times. She had been forced to act like she was relying on Cho for guidance for nearly an hour before he finally stopped and removed the damned cloth from her face. She would be having a word with Shishio about that when they returned. Stupid arrogant man and his stupid annoying jokes.

All such thoughts were put on hold as she realized exactly which town they were in.

Kyoto.

She could practically feel the blood drain from her face. She stopped in her tracks, feeling the miniscule tremors already beginning to cause her hands to shake. Cho continued onward for a few steps before realizing that he was alone and turning back, a confused look on his face.

"Oi! What're ya doin', _shinsuta_-_chan_? C'mon already!"

Midori never heard him. Her entire being was focused on the city before her as a scream resounded through her mind.

_**NODON'TGOBACKCAN'TGOBACKNEVERNEVERNEVER –**_

_"OI!"_

Fingers snapped repeatedly close to her face, startling her. She jerked back, a hand automatically going up to grasp the hilt of her _katana_.

"Hey now, easy thar, _shinsuta_-_chan_! Don' go choppin' at me, now, I ain't tryin' ta hurt ya. Ya spaced out on me thar fer a minute. Are ya comin'?"

"You…have business…in Kyoto?" she questioned faintly, the urge to run welling strongly in her gut.

"Uh, yeah! Where ya been, _shinsuta_-_chan_? You and me are gonna go get a _katana_ forged by the master Shakku Arai. Weren't ya listenin' ta anything I told ya on the way down here?" Cho grumbled, one eye closed as the other peered disapprovingly at her.

"No."

Midori blocked out the irate mutterings issuing from her annoying companion as she worked hard to calm herself. She had not set foot in Kyoto but once in ten years since her botched death. That time had been a bloodbath itself, nearly five years ago now; she wondered how many people would die this time.

She wondered if she would see that old man and his surrogate family again.

"Yo, partner, we ain't got the time fer a trip down memory lane," Cho whined loudly, effectively regaining her attention. "Come on already."

Midori followed close behind Cho as they made their way through the busy streets of Kyoto. She felt weird walking these roads in daylight; before she'd only ever seen them at night, usually through a red haze of blood and the pale light of the moon. Every muscle in her body was drawn tight with tension. She could hear a distant screaming in the back of her mind as memories fought for freedom; half of her concentration was used in an attempt not to relent to their furious onslaught. The other half was used to acknowledge and categorize every person that passed them, from the oldest crone to the smallest child.

"Where are we going?" she questioned quietly; Cho seemed to know exactly where he was heading as he led them swiftly through the crowds.

"Swordsmith's place," he answered rather shortly; apparently he was still miffed that she had ignored his little monologue on the way here. "Wait here, would ya? Shishio-sama don't want you stickin' yer neck out too far. I'll be right back."

Midori waited until the broom-haired swordsman was out of sight before setting off after him. As she had already reminded Shishio, she was not one of his little sycophantic followers: she wasn't about to take orders from him.

* * *

That son of a _bitch_.

Midori was furious as she followed the sounds of the wailing infant currently held hostage by one Cho Sawagejo – soon to be a dead man. How _dare_ he kidnap an infant? What the hell was _wrong_ with him? When Midori caught up with that stupid bastard, she was going to strangle him very slowly with her bare hands.

She had almost gutted him earlier as he had toyed with that weak-looking man and his distraught wife. When he thrust the giggling child into the air, bourn by his sheath, only to catch child and sheath on his wickedly sharp blade, Midori had been angry enough to do something drastic – except if she interfered then the two adults might try to play the hero and retrieve their son. She was afraid that interference on her part would have led to a slaughter.

They appeared to be going to some kind of shrine, and as Cho unknowingly led her along behind him and the squalling baby, she tried to strategize how to get the kid safely away from him before she dispatched him. Cho carried so many _katanas_; she would have to account for every possible attack he could make before moving, or the child's death would be on her head. That could not happen, whatever the cost.

Zetsumei Kurohyou was many things, but she sure as hell wasn't a child-killer.

"Well, now," Cho drawled from ahead of her, having stopped at the top of the stone steps they had been climbing. She paused as well, tensed to head for the surrounding trees should he attempt to turn. "You don't look like yer here ta visit no shrine. Tell me who ya are."

Who the hell was he talking to?

"Let go of that boy."

She froze, every muscle in her body paralyzed by shock for an instant before she dove into the thick cover of the trees.

"A cross shaped scar, huh? Well, you must be that famous _hitokiri_ Battousai I've heard all about. I reckon yer here ta get Shakku's last _katana_ all fer yerself," Cho preened.

Well, shit. What in the gods names was _Himura_ doing there? Midori crept closer, keeping one eye on Cho as she flitted through the trees to the top of the stairs. Her ears she kept carefully focused on the conversation.

"The _katana_ I'm looking for is a different one. If you want Shakku's final masterpiece then take it. However, in return I'm asking you: release him."

Oh, damnit all to hell. This was just perfect. Himura was pissed and Cho had a cocky grin on his face that infuriated Midori. That broom-headed imbecile couldn't possibly think –

"I see yer tryin' ta _talk_ yer way out insteada' _fightin'_ yer way out, huh? Makes a lota sense in this case. Yer good-ole-trusty _sakabato_ is all busted up –" –_**shit- **_"- so ya cain't fight at yer best even if ya wanted to, no-siree. And I don't really deserve braggin' rights if I beat ya like that. But if the word got out to Shishio-_sama_ that I bumped inta the enemy and didn't fight him, he'd have my head on a silver platter. So –"

A leather sheath with baby attached swung through the air; Midori leapt forward, but the baby's clothing latched safely onto a small tree branch and hung there, stable. The baby was scared but unharmed, so Midori sank back into the trees, focused completely on the two men.

"Besides," Cho continued, "even if I had Shakku's last blade in my hands, I think half the fun's bein' able to try it out on someone. And I've always wanted to see what it's like to chop up a baby."

Oh, she was _so_ going to _kill_ that bastard.

"So I'm afraid I'll hafta say no to yer generous offer." Cho extended his arm to point his blade straight at Himura, who had yet to move. "Let's me and you have a fight, fair-n-square."

A muscle was twitching in Himura's jaw. "You know your opponent's katana is broken and on top of that you have a hostage. You call that a fair fight? Are you trying to be funny?"

"I ain't tryin' ta be funny at all, partner. It's just that –" he broke off to toss another sheath at Himura's face. As Himura blocked it, Cho thrust forward to strike.

"_Yer takin' things too seriously!"_

For a moment, Midori wondered if Himura was just going to stand there and die. Then, in a move too fast for her to completely follow, he was behind Cho and raising his still sheathed – and apparently broken – blade. A strike to the Cho's back shattered the two blades hanging there and sent Cho sprawling. The baby giggled and made happy nonsense noises as Himura smiled and turned to extract the kid from the tree.

"Ya know that woulda' really hurt if it weren't fer the swords on my back," Cho drawled as he picked himself up, extracting his last two blades as he did so. "But now I'm gonna have to make you pay fer that!"

A twist of his wrists connected the two separate _katanas_ into a single blade, 'the ranbatou' as Cho was happy to point out. Apparently he thought that he would be able to wound Himura with the two closely-placed blades, which would make stitches impossible and would likely kill Himura within the week from infection. That is, _if_ Cho could hit him.

Which he could not do.

A flick of the wrist and Himura had shattered both blades with only his sheath. The sheath imbedded in Cho's gut had him flying back again, much to the baby's vocal amusement. As Himura moved again to retrieve the child, Cho made a very stupid, very dangerous mistake that had Midori cringing at the wrongness of it.

"You turn around and face me right now or I swear I'll chop up that kid first!"

If a person spent time around Kenshin Himura, it would take about five minutes to discover that in addition to being an absolutely lethal force with a _katana, _but he also absolutely loved children.

Cho was in deep, _deep_ shit.

As soon as Himura turned back around, Midori moved to scale the tree in which the infant was hanging. She saw out of the corner of her eye as Cho, still talking, tore off the stupid looking kimono he always wore. As it fell to the ground, a voice to her right suddenly started shouting. It sounded very much like the infants' father.

"That steel wrapped around that man's waist! I know what it is! That's one of the exotic blades that my father made before he died! It's one of the most deadly weapons ever created!"

Oh, for the love of all that was holy. Could this _get_ any more complicated? As Midori wrapped her fist in the baby's clothing and the suddenly twenty-foot-long blade snaked around Himura, she knew with a sinking feeling in her gut that if she didn't do something, that son-of-a-bitch Cho was going to kill an unarmed man. Never mind that it was Himura, previously the most dangerous man she had ever known. Never mind that she had left her heart with him in Tokyo, and that it would kill her to watch him die. It didn't matter who he was right now; he was unarmed.

That was the thought that echoed through her head as she leapt over Himura's head, dropped the baby into his surprised arms, and stuck her arm out to let the strange blade wrap around it: Himura was unarmed. She wasn't.

"_OI!!_ What the hell do ya think yer doing, _shinsuta_-_chan_?!" Cho bellowed, jerking his blade free of her arm. Blood colored the air as it spurted from numerous deep slashes in her skin.

From behind her, a quiet, much-to-familiar voice whispered one word that sent an involuntary shiver coursing down her spine.

"_Kabu_?"

Midori forced herself not to reply. She would not throw herself into his arms. She would not let him know how it affected her to see him again. This was not the time for that. Instead she reached up to unsheathe her katana, rolled her shoulders once, and started her advance on Cho.

"_What_," she spat, giving the broom-haired bastard a look that should have knocked him dead, "do you think you are _doing_, Cho?"

"I'm fightin, ya dumbass, what's it look like –"

"You kidnapped and threatened the life of an infant," Midori interjected furiously, flinging her bloody arm behind her to indicate Himura and the crying child. "You attacked an unarmed man for no reason. _What the hell were you thinking?!"_

"Unarmed man?! That's Battousai, woman! Who gives a shit if he's unarmed! Shishio-sama wanted him dead if he showed up in Kyoto tryin' ta cause trouble! You ought ta be helpin' me, not yellin' at me!"

Dangerous rage filled Midori. Slowly, deliberately, she crouched in a defensive position and leveled her weapon at the man before her.

"The entire world will _burn_," she snarled viciously, "before I allow anyone to end Himura's life. Prepare yourself."

And so saying, Zetsumei Kurohyou lunged at her opponent.

* * *

Kenshin Himura darted to where Sekku Arai, his wife, Misao-chan, and Okina-san lay on the stone steps. His arms were wrapped protectively around little Iori. His mind, however, was blank with shock.

Midori was here in Kyoto. His _kabu_ had thrown herself in front of him. His _kabu_ was fighting the man with the strange hair to protect him. Midori was here in Kyoto, not twenty feet from him, and she was fighting to protect him.

_The entire world will burn before I allow anyone to end Himura's life._

Kenshin quickly handed the frightened baby to his mother before putting a slightly bloodied hand on Sekku-_san's_ shoulder and looking the younger man straight in the eye.

"Sekku-san," he said quickly, "please allow me to use your father's last _katana_ to help my friend. I give you my word that I will not use it to shed blood; I wish only to aid someone who is important to me and to stop this madman before he harms anyone else."

Sekku's wife suddenly screamed at the same time that Misao-chan shouted, "Himura, that woman's hurt!"

He whipped his head around so fast the others were afraid he had broken his neck. Midori was nimbly dodging the other man's strange blade, flipping and turning through the air with the grace of an acrobat; but even from where he crouched, Kenshin could see the blood spewing from her mouth as she began to cough harshly.

Panic rose within him. Frantic, he turned again to Sekku-san, desperate for his help, only to see the man nodding.

"Yes! Use it to help her, Himura-san, please! She saved my son's life! You must help her!"

That was all Kenshin needed to hear.

Faster than thought he was halfway across the stone courtyard. Another second and he was inside the small shire, his hand wrapped around the wooden hilt. Before he could make it out the door again, an agonized scream met his ears; he bolted from the shrine in a panic, only to stop dead at the sight that greeted him.

Midori was lying full out on the ground, still coughing great bloody globs onto the stones by her face. On her other side, not daring to move because of the _katana_ buried just below his ribs, lay the stranger; screaming in pain.

"Shit! Shit! She's a fuckin' monster! How tha hell'd you move like that?! That ain't possible!"

Kenshin paid the man no mind as he dropped the _katana_ and darted to Midori's side. Slipping one arm behind her shoulders and the other below her knees, he picked her up and held her close to him as hacking coughs wracked her small body.

"Damnit…Saito…you fucking bastard," she wheezed between coughs as Kenshin quickly headed for the others.

"Sekku-san, this one must ask you to inform the police of what this man did. Please do not mention my friend. If they ask you how he was injured, tell them that it was me. Misao-chan, please wait here with that man until the police arrive. I need you to bring back both my friend's blade and the other. Okina-san, please, I need you to come with me back to the Aoi-Ya to treat her wounds."

"Of course," the older man replied as they nearly flew down the stairs. "I owe my life to Zetsumei Kurohyou; I will do whatever I can for her. You have my word on that Himura-san."

Kenshin didn't waste his breath asking questions. He simply held the woman he loved tighter and ran faster.

Hours later, when Midori was sleeping fitfully on a futon in a spare room at the Aoi-Ya, Kenshin and Okina-san retired to the veranda to share tea and talk.

"You know of her?" Kenshin asked, his voice quiet. Okina-san gave a single nod, sipping his tea.

"As I said, I owe her my life; as do Kuro-san, Omasu-chan, Shiro-san, and Okon-chan. Misao-chan was off looking for Aoshi at the time, for which I am grateful. It was nearly five years ago now. Somehow or another, an old faction of our old enemies found out about this inn. They were bitter over ancient grievances and sore from long festering wounds. They decided to attack us; they showed up here at the Aoi-Ya near midnight one evening. There were over a hundred of them." The man was dreadfully serious, his tone and expression at complete odds with the overly energetic old goof that was the norm.

Kenshin set his cup down, not liking where this story is heading. "What happened?"

Okina-san, too, set his drink aside. "It was going very badly for us, as you can imagine, Himura-san. Okon-chan was unconscious; Shiro-san badly injured; Kuro-san, Omasu-chan, and I were fighting for all our lives. We had managed to subdue maybe twenty of them between the three of us, and it was fast becoming apparent that we could not win. That was when the screaming started."

Okina-san heaved a sigh and closed his eyes for a long moment. When he finally opened them again and returned his gaze to Kenshin, the look on his moderately-old face was ancient.

"She cut through them like they were made of tofu, Himura-san. It was absolute slaughter. In minutes half of them were dead. Half a hundred men in minutes. Less than a quarter of an hour after she appeared, all of our attackers lay dead at our feet. And she didn't have so much as a scratch on her.

"I approached her once she had sheathed her sword. She looked at me with those fathomless green eyes, not a speck of emotion on her face, and for a moment I feared that she would kill me as well. She spoke to me; asked me if my companions would be alright. I assured her they would be. I bowed to this woman and humbly thanked her for my life and the lives of the others. I asked to know her name."

Okina-san rubbed a wrinkled hand over his face in a gesture of tiredness Kenshin had not seen from him before.

"She whispered her title, so low that I almost missed it. I recognized it immediately, of course. Her title is just as notorious in Kyoto as yours is, Himura-san. Before I could even open my mouth she was gone. I hadn't seen her again or heard rumors of her whereabouts before today. For a year or so I watched for her return; I asked the Tokyo branch of the Oniwabanshu to watch for her. No word of her reached my ears in five years since she saved all our lives and disappeared."

Suddenly the old man squared his shoulders. With a fierce look on his face, Okina-san turned his steely gaze to the _shoji_ across from their position, behind which Midori tossed about in a fevered dream.

"But her act has not been forgotten, not by any of us. You have my utmost assurance, Himura-san: any one of us in this inn would gladly give our lives for her safety."

Kenshin allowed his own gaze to fall on the same _shoji_, an unfamiliar feeling welling in his gut.

_I hope you do not need to, Okina-__san_.

_But I will be the first to die for her if the need arises._

* * *

**A/N: Please review. I'd like to know if anyone is even still reading this story.**


	17. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori is my idea.

Please note that I will be changing the story significantly from the original Rurouni Kenshin storyline in this chapter.

* * *

_Kenshin is panicking. His kabu has gotten up after only three hours of fevered sleep. She had called for him as she folded up the borrowed futon, and he has spent the last ten minutes trying to get her to lie back down. Her face is flushed from fever, and he can plainly see sweat on her skin._

_"Will you stop telling me to lie down?!" she finally snaps at him, her green eyes blazing angrily. "I have something to take care of. I can't do that if I'm stuck in a futon."_

_Confusion grips him. "What do you mean?"_

_She ties her katana onto her back, clearly frustrated that her hands are shaking slightly. _

"_I was hoping that you would come with me, kabu," he presses, moving a little closer to her. "I must go to my master. I must ask for his help if I am to have a chance to defeat Shishio. I had planned to leave as soon as you were able."_

_She finishes tying the knot in the cord that holds her katana in place before she turns her full attention to him._

"_I'm going back to Shishio's little hideout to collect my belongings. If you give directions I will meet you wherever you are going."_

_Confusion becomes panic, which quickly escalates out of proportion._

"_No."_

_"I'm going."_

_"No. Please, no."_

_"I'm not asking for your permission, Himura. I'm telling you that I'm going back."_

_She turns as if to leave and he grabs her wrist to stop her. He tugs her into his arms and presses his face into the skin where her neck meets her shoulder. For a long moment neither of them moves, and Kenshin wonders if he has upset her again with his show of worry; he knows that she hates to be touched. However, just as he starts to pull away, his kabu lets out a long sigh. Slowly, as though afraid the slightest movement will break him, his kabu moves her arms to wrap gently around his waist even as her small head burrows into his chest._

_He holds himself very, very still, hardly daring to breathe so as not to startle her. He wonders vaguely if he is in a dream. He lost count a long time ago of how many times he has dreamt of having her in his arms, only to wake up alone. He hopes that this time is real._

_"Ninjin." Her voice is slightly muffled by the cloth of his gi, which her face is currently buried in, but Kenshin can still pick up the very serious tone that is being used. "I'm going back to where Shishio is. I will reclaim my belongings and then I will meet you at the home of your master. There are…many things that I need to tell you."_

_He opens his mouth to speak, but the sound dies in his throat when her thin arms tighten around him and she pulls him closer. He can feel the beginnings of very fine tremors running through her back under his hands. His mouth closes again. _

_"I…"_

_Her calloused hands fist themselves into the back of his gi._

_"I….I need you to trust me. I need you to believe in me, ninjin."_

_Words tumbled from his mouth before he can stop them. "But you're injured still, kabu, you're injured and sick and what if Shishio kills you and I'm not there? What if something happens and you need me and I'm not there and –"_

_"Kenshin."_

_His mouth slams shut on the bubble of panic welling up in his chest and he tightens his hold around her. She called him Kenshin. She said his name._

_She said his name._

_"I don't need you to worry for me, Kenshin. I don't need a partner or a babysitter or a shadow. I need a friend who trusts me. I need a friend who believes in my ability to take care of myself and the ones I care about. I need __**you**__ to be that friend, Kenshin. I need you to believe in me."_

_He moves his hands to her hair; uses a light but firm grip to force her face upward. For a long time he simply stares down at her face. It is blank; completely free of all emotion. He recognizes this face. He has not seen it in ten long years, but still…_

_This is the way she looked as she told him her name for the first time. This is the face she uses when she is so serious, her face is incapable of showing the extent of her emotions._

_This is the face she used when preparing to kill._

_"Midori," he whispers, pressing his forehead to hers. "Tell me that you will survive. Tell me that you will come back to me. Tell me that…_

_"…and I will believe in you, kabu."_

* * *

She was _not_ looking forward to this.

Midori easily retraced her steps from that morning – had it only been that morning? The half-assed blindfold, the trip with that annoying idiot Cho, the earlier sparring lesson when she nearly severed that man's arm…had all of that actually happened that morning?

Well. Her day had certainly gone to hell in a hand basket.

Now she was going back to Shishio's hide-away long enough to tell him that she was leaving.

…Yeah. Hell in a hand basket.

Aside from the fallout of that announcement, Midori would also have to deal with his reaction to discovering that she had stabbed his man in the diaphragm and was completely willing to kill Shishio if he raised a blade against Himura. Those two revelations compounded with the knowledge that she intended to leave his presence and the fact that he seemed to be obsessed with her…

Let's just say this was going to be rather unpleasant.

As if her situation was not bad enough, Midori had woken back at that inn to find she had another, more disturbing problem: she had pushed the sheets off of her to stand only to see that they were soaked in blood. Pulling aside her borrowed _yukata_, she had stared at her bared flesh for a long time before leaping to her feet and scrambling to find some bandages and her own clothing.

Somehow, Midori had opened up the stab wounds in her chest.

Both of them.

The wound she received from Saito had not healed properly. She had lain in a fever for two weeks before it was sewn up, and Himura was not a skilled doctor. In addition, she had strained it too much during her trek with Soujiro to Shingetsu Village, and again when she attempted to repel Shishio when he decided to get…physical with her. Removing Himura's stitches the week before had not been pleasant, and the wound had continued to weep blood. So, in all honesty, the fact that her tussle with that idiot Cho had caused Saito's strike to bleed wasn't a surprise or a cause for too much concern.

It was the other scar's bleeding that was freaking her out.

Himura had stabbed her over _ten_ _years_ ago. It should be impossible for the long-healed wound to bleed. And yet it bled. Copiously, at that! Never before had it done so. Sure, it pained her every time it rained or whenever she had that damned memory/nightmare; but never had the scar actually _bled_.

She had wondered fleetingly if she should tell Himura, but had immediately rejected that plan. Midori had know full well how he would react to her announcement of her intent to return to Shishio's lair – he was going to go into a full-out panic. Telling him that the scar that marked the place where he had stabbed her ten years ago had suddenly started bleeding again _might_ be a bad idea.

The old man had seen her. She had discreetly taken the sheets out to dispose of – there was no way they'd ever get that much blood out – and he had shouted hello much too loudly, much too closely from behind her. Midori had wondered for a moment if she were going to die of fright. While she was still reeling from his enthusiastic greeting, the old man had come in front of her and spied the ruined sheets.

_"Kurohyou-san, are you injured?" he had asked her in a serious tone that was a complete turnaround from the boisterous greeting of moments earlier. That had thrown her momentarily._

_"How do you know that name?" she had rasped. Her throat was clogged; she had turned and spat a rather large glob of blood onto the dirt of the alley in which they were standing. When she had turned back, the old man had a look of concern on his face that confused her. What did this man care about her health?_

_"I can see that you don't recognize me," the old man had conceded, taking the sheets from her hands and tossing them into a rubbish pile. "I suppose that isn't surprising; we've only met once, after all, and at the time I failed to introduce myself. Please allow me to do so now: I am Nenji Kashiwazaki, also called Okina of the Oniwabanshu. We met one night nearly five years ago, when you saved my life and the lives of my companions."_

_She had felt like an idiot for not recognizing the man in the first place. To be fair, if the sheets they had just disposed of were any indicator, she had suffered from excessive blood-loss; which would go far in explaining both how she had failed to notice the man before he scared the shit out of her, and why she had failed to recognized him. _

_To cover her embarrassment, she had bowed slightly. "I am glad to see that you are doing well, Kashiwazaki-san."_

_"Please call me Okina. And I am sorry to see that your health appears to be failing you, Kurohyou-san."_

_She had hesitated for a long moment before she had slowly replied, "My name is Midori, Okina-san."_

_He had looked at her hard for an instant before a small smile had turned up the corners of his lips, softening his wrinkled face._

_"I am honored that you would trust me with that information, Midori-san."_

Midori had asked the old man not to tell Himura about the bloody sheets. She was confident that he would not, as well as relieved. Himura had enough to worry about without adding her health to the list.

She was tensed for an attack the second she entered Shishio's compound; with as many people as he had under his thumb, Midori was sure that Shishio was already aware of the morning's events.

She walked through the outer doors with her _katana_ already drawn, only to feel eyes upon her.

"I dislike being spied upon," Midori called out as she walked forward. In moments men were dropping down beside her: ninja with their faces hidden and their kunai ready. She allowed a smirk to grace her lips as she studied them.

"Shishio-sama has given orders that the assassin Zetsumei Kurohyou is to be escorted into his presence at the time that she returns," one of the men behind her intoned. The group was formed in a circle around her position; a smart move that guaranteed any movement she made in any direction had the probability to be intercepted.

"Fine." Midori kept her tone carefully blank. "I need to speak with him anyway."

"Please relinquish your _katana_," a different voice from her left spoke up, as the group collectively edged forward.

Midori narrowed her eyes and shifted her footing slightly as she tightened her grip on the hilt of her weapon.

"No." Again, her voice was carefully blank, but the look on her face apparently made it quite clear that taking her _katana_ away by force would be a very, _very_ stupid thing to attempt. Wordlessly the group shifted again; Midori understood that they would remain around her, and that she was to follow those in front of her to Shishio's position. She was careful to maintain the same amount of distance between herself and the people on every side of her; at least that way no matter which direction they attacked from, Midori would have time to counterattack.

They advanced through Shishio's domain in silence. When they at last came upon the room in which Shishio had taken to holding his little sparring sessions, the men in front of her stepped away. Without hesitation, Midori walked forward and lifted her hand, only to stop short when she saw that it was shaking. Quickly she assessed her body's status: she was having slight difficulty breathing, possibly due to renewed blood buildup in her punctured lung; both of her hands were shaking very slightly; and she seemed to be covered in a light sweat.

_No_ _time_ _to_ _worry_ _about_ _it_ _now_, she thought and slid the shoji door open.

The first thing she registered was Makoto Shishio, reclining on a couch directly across the room from the door with his whore snuggled against his side; a large smirk graced his burnt lips as his eyes met hers.

The second thing to register in her brain was the presence of both Kaoru Kamiya and Yahiko Myogin, bound and gagged and apparently unconscious on the floor in the center of the room. Her satchel of belongings lay beside them, along with two others.

Well, shit.

In an instant she had moved to stand over them, blade held in front of her as she readied herself to protect them. The smirk on Shishio's face grew wider.

"Welcome back, _nakama_."

She quickly scanned the room. Aside from Shishio, herself, and the woman Yumi, there were eight men in the room; all standing back against the wall near the door, where she hadn't seen them on entering because her attention had immediately focused on what was right in front of her. One of them was Hogi, the ex-government member who was to help Shishio run Japan once he gained control of the nation. They had met a week ago, and the intense dislike was mutual.

The others were an odd bunch indeed.

One man, a tall, exceptionally muscled man whose hands were wrapped in bandages and whose evidently bald head was covered by a piece of cloth, was familiar to her. This was the man who had assisted her when the time came to take the stitches out of her back. He had called himself Anji. The boy Soujiro stood beside him, that creepy little smile plastered on his face.

Next to Soujiro, coming only to about waist height on the boy, stood a man that looked very much like a large bald rat, in Midori's opinion. There was no hair to be found anywhere on his head except the six whisker-like strands of his mustache, each of which stuck straight out. He smirked at her, revealing yellowing teeth.

The next person…she was fairly sure was a man. Midori would need to hear the person talk, but she was skeptical about such a manly woman. The bone structure was not correct for a woman; the chest area of the kimono (which was a woman's, not one of the men's like Shishio wore) was flat. No woman is ever entirely flat. The…It flashed her a cheeky grin, tightening its grip on its weapon – what appeared to be a scythe.

Close to the It stood a shorter man who seemed to have wrapped himself head to toe in a large blue cape. The lower half of his face was covered as well; all Midori could tell from a casual glance was that he was extremely pale and had brown hair. His beady little eyes locked with hers for a second before she moved on to the next man.

…Or perhaps blob would be a better word. The thing was pink and hugely fat; unnaturally so, to Midori's eye. A large, stupid grin stretched his empty face from ear to ear, and Midori found herself wondering why in the name of Kami Shishio insisted on employing brainless fools like Cho and this man. Did he truly think he could conquer a nation with such stupid people working for him?

Leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the door from the other six, with his hands in his pockets and what looked like a large stick tucked into the groove of one elbow, stood the last man. Midori knew instantly that he was going to be one that she would need to keep an eye on. He was tall, standing about the same height as Shishio if not taller, with black hair that partially obscured his currently closed eyes. The large overcoat he wore lent him a decidedly imposing air. But it was the coldness that seemed to radiate from this last man that put Midori on her guard, not his physical attributes. It was the coldness of the dead that came off this man, and though he was standing as still as a statue, he was most definitely alive.

"I see you've recognized my two little guests," Shishio continued, drawing her eyes back to his reclined figure. "My spies tell me you spent some time with them in Tokyo recently. I thought a little reunion might cheer you up after this morning's catastrophe."

He had people watching her in Tokyo? Shit. Soujiro must have lied when he told her that he hadn't been able to find her. Midori needed to think quickly – before the crazy bastard decided to have some of his men start playing with the two unconscious forms for her further amusement.

"This morning was your fault, _baka_," she hissed, glaring at him with as much false indignation as she could muster. Ignoring her screaming instincts for the moment, Midori forced herself to re-sheath her katana and cross her arms nonchalantly over her chest. "If you employed men who possessed at least half of a brain instead of fools like Cho Sawagejo, your plans would doubtlessly go more smoothly."

"Oh? So you interfered with his fight against the Battousai and stabbed him in the gut because you thought he was stupid?"

Dammit. Was the son-of-a-bitch clairvoyant now?

"No," she shot back snidely. "I would have happily allowed the moron to dispose of the Battousai. It is his fault for lacking skill and subtlety that I was seen. The old geyser who accompanied Battousai to that shrine saw me and recognized me from an encounter years ago. It is common knowledge that I was once the Battousai's _nakama_; if I had not intervened it would have cast suspicion on me. Your dear Cho isn't dead, _ahou_. If you wish to break him out of jail that's your business."

"Hmmm. If you truly don't care whether the Battousai lives or dies, then why are you crouched over his friends like an avenging angel?" Shishio smirked at her, his red eyes boring into her with an intensity that was not helpful to the slight tremors in her hands.

But she was prepared for this question. Two lives depended on her reply; she had no intention of screwing it up.

"Why do you even need them?" Midori sneered, looking down at the two prone figures disdainfully. "If you need bait, she's standing right in front of you. You're always harking on about being the strong one, right? So what kind of strength must use others to kill your opponent, Shishio?"

"I intend to be the one that ends the Battousai's life," he replied, disentangling himself from Yumi's grasp and rising from the couch. "But if he's so weak that he can't beat someone like Cho, why should I waste my time with him?"

"If Himura had possessed a blade earlier he would have beaten Cho in an instant," Midori quickly retorted, forcing herself not to move away as Shishio began stalking towards her. _Concentrate_, _concentrate_.

"If you want Himura to be strong enough to offer you an enjoyable fight, wait. Don't do something stupid like kill his friends to piss him off. That wouldn't work, anyway; it would be more likely to throw him into deep depression and make him even less worthy an opponent. You said you wanted my help in your revenge. If you want a chance in Hell of conquering Japan, you're going to have to dispose of Himura first. So to do that, and still enjoy it, you need to use me."

Shishio paused just in front of her, his booted feet dangerously close to the heads of Kamiya and Yahiko-chan. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

She made herself roll her eyes, as if the answer were pathetically obvious.

"I was his partner before I was yours," she reminded him. "We were close during the Bakumatsu. He still cares for me. He trusts me explicitly. He would never believe that I would betray him. For Kami's sake, Shishio, the man was stupid enough to allow me to return here! He knows full well that I have been in your company since Shingetsu Village, have been around you for nearly a month, and still the fool trusted me to return. He is naïve enough to think that I would choose our friendship over a way to my own vengeance. The old man will tell him that I am trustworthy as well; he owes me his life, and the lives of those that reside with him. He will never suspect me of betrayal."

A slow grin lit up Shishio's face. "You're talking about helping him get stronger, and then leading him here like a lamb to the slaughter. You're talking about betraying him, in the same way he betrayed you. You want him dead, don't you little panther?"

Midori fixed her haughtiest glare on her face as she met his fanatical eyes. "The man betrayed me. He put a blade through my flesh and left me to die. He chose his superiors and their sanctimonious _orders_ over me and our friendship. If you can't manage to kill him, Shishio, at least try to wound him. That will make it all the sweeter when I kill him myself. Either way I will win. He will either be slain by you, and know as he dies that I sold him out; or he will be slain by me, and he will see the truth in my eyes as I kill him."

For a long, long moment in time Shishio said nothing. Midori silently prayed to whatever gods were watching over her, to whatever gods were watching over Himura, that he would take the bait. If he didn't, she was dead, as were Kaoru and Yahiko. If he didn't, Himura's depression would kill him before Shishio even got close enough.

"Everybody out," Shishio suddenly ordered. "Leave me with her. Now."

Silently the others filed out, Yumi and…It giving Midori scathing looks before the door slid shut behind Soujiro. She was alone again with Shishio, but for the unconscious bodies under her feet. Midori's stomach clenched painfully.

"I want insurance."

Midori narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. "What?"

"I'm not a fool, _nakama_. I want two things that will insure you _are_ telling me the truth, and not just fucking me over." That grin hadn't diminished, and neither had that freakish look in his eyes.

Midori could feel the goosebumps break out all over her body. She hadn't counted on this. What would he ask for? What would she have to sacrifice to get herself and the other two out of this building alive?

"What do you want?" she asked, fighting hard to keep her voice steady.

He reached out and took her hand, gently pulling her forward. She went without hesitation, thinking only of getting Kaoru and Yahiko out of here before he hurt them; thinking only of her plan. She followed him almost docilely as he led her to the couch he'd been reclining on earlier. Shishio sat and pulled her to him, so that she was sitting sideways on his lap. Midori forced herself not to flinch away from him.

He reached up and eased the tie out of her hair, letting the long black mass spill down to pool around her waist.

Midori did tense up at that. Only a lover or spouse messed with your hair, surely even Shishio – _oh_, _fuck_. Midori's breath caught in her throat as Shishio wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. His cloth-wrapped nose found its way to her neck and he inhaled deeply.

"I want you to let me kiss you," he growled softly against her skin, his tongue snaking out to lap at her jaw line. "And I want to know your name. Those are the things that you're going to give me for insurance, little panther: a kiss and your name."

Midori's heart was pounding much too fast in her chest; a small part of her brain wondered if she were in danger of having a heart attack. She had to say yes. She had to let him kiss her and she had to finally tell him her name. If she said no, Kaoru and Yahiko would die. She had to say yes.

Slowly, painfully, she opened her mouth and spoke four words.

"My name is Midori."

Barely were the words out of her mouth before Shishio was shifting her to lie flat on the couch underneath him. One of his arms was still wrapped around her waist, pulling her hips up against his, letting her feel the depths of his arousal. The other hand wrapped itself deep in her hair, holding her head still as Shishio's mouth connected forcefully with hers.

_Think only of Kaoru and Yahiko. Think only of your plan. Think only of Himura._

_Only Himura. Only Kenshin._

_Kenshin._

* * *

Midori figured she had stumbled about three quarters of the way to Himura's master's place – in the dark – before her cargo woke up and freaked out.

Shishio had told her before she left that he had given them an inhalator sedative that would keep them under for several more hours. He had told her that they would snap from asleep to full wakefulness in an instant. He had been right on both counts.

One second both of her passengers were snoring; the next she had dropped them both and crumbled to the ground on top of the satchels she had slung around her neck. Kaoru had hit her directly over the exit scar of Saito's attack at precisely the same time Yahiko had pounded his fist on its counterpart from Himura. She went down like a sack of potatoes.

As she lay there in a daze, coughing blood yet again, the two previously unconscious people with her scrambled to their feet, shouting at each other and at her.

"Yahiko-chan! Are you alright?"

"Damnit, don't call me chan, _buso_!"

"Well if you can curse at your assistant-master you're obviously fine!"

"Yeah whatever. Who's the lump, anyway?"

"Hey, you! I demand to know who you are and what you were planning on doing to us! And tell us where we are! Well? I said answer me!"

"You have to shut up long enough to let them answer you, Kaoru. Sheesh, don't you know anything, you ugly hag?"

"Shut up, _Yahiko_-_chan_!"

"_Buso_!"

Midori groaned; using one arm for leverage, she slowly rolled herself over to lie flat on her back, her face turned to the side so that she could continue coughing without choking.

"Holy shit!"

"Midori-san! Are you alright?!"

Hands jerked the three satchels from around her neck as other hands lifted her shoulders. Someone, probably Kaoru, was sitting behind her and letting her head rest on Kaoru's thighs. The babble continued.

"We're sorry! We thought you were that boy –"

"We were chasing Aoishi Shinomori in Kyoto near the trainyards and this kid popped out of the crowd –"

"He had this creepy smile –"

"He was carrying a _katana –_"

"He had some kind of powder in his hands and he blew it in our faces –"

"And then you were carrying us and we thought you were him!"

_"We're sorry!!"_

The last part was wailed by both of them as she levered herself up from Kaoru's lap and looked around her, slightly dazed by the slew of information. Yahiko was crouched to her side, the satchels all hugged to his chest as he looked at her with genuine worry in his young eyes. Kaoru hurried to come around in front of her, kneeling down in the dust of the path they were on and touching her head to the dirt in supplication.

"Please, Midori-san, we're very sorry," Kaoru repeated to the dirt. "We just woke up and panicked. We didn't mean to hurt you. Are you alright?"

Midori stared at her bowed form for a moment before heaving a raspy sigh and struggling to her feet. Himura and his friends were going to be the death of her. She pulled her satchel from Yahiko's clutches before hauling the boy up as well.

"Get up, Kaoru, we do not have the time for your groveling. I will live, that is all that matters right now. Do not ask me why I am here; I have told Himura the whole story, if you want to know you can pester him. I am on the way to his master's home to rejoin with him; it is located at the top of this path. Follow me if you wish to see him."

With that she had continued up the path, leaving Kaoru and Yahiko to scramble along behind her.

Midori blocked out their furious whisperings and put all her concentration into putting one foot in front of the other. Her shoulders had been bleeding all day; she had been coughing blood all day; she had been carting two unconscious bodies around for at least a few hours; she was exhausted; and if she didn't reach Himura's master's place very soon there was a good chance that she would pass out.

_One foot in front of the other. Almost there. Almost to Himura._

_Almost to Kenshin._

She was so focused on what she was repeating to herself and on the placing of her feet that she almost didn't notice when they broke through the trees surrounding them and came to be in a small clearing. In the center of the clearing stood what appeared to be a potter's kennel and a medium sized hut. Kaoru and Yahiko gave cries of delight and rushed past her towards the hut.

Her vision was swimming in the oddest manner. She could hear voices, could vaguely make out the shapes of people moving towards her. Suddenly she was lying face down in the dirt and the voices sounded like they were panicking. What in the name of the gods was wrong _now_? She was so tired she didn't think she could survive another catastrophe.

Enormous hands lifted her up as a booming voice rang near her ear.

"So you're the woman my _baka_ _deshi's_ been telling me about. Don't bleed to death on me, it's near impossible to get blood out of this cape and I'm going to need your help to kick that idiot into shape."

"_Kabu_! What happened? Are you alright?"

"Shut up, you _baka_, of course she's not alright. What kind of stupid question is that? Get out of the way."

"But _Shishou_ –"

"Don't question me, you little numbskull, just get out of my way!"

As the world went dark around her, Midori made a mental note to mercilessly tease Himura later about the _baka_ _deshi_ thing. It could be part of his payback for putting her in the position where she was forced to actually kiss Makoto Shishio.

He owed her big time for that.

* * *

**_A/N: Please review._**


	18. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori was my idea.

* * *

_Zetsumei Kurohyou comes in from assignment one night injured. One of the bodyguards of the target had stabbed her under the ribs with a tantou before she drove her blade through his eye. The dagger's blade broke off in her diaphragm, and she is not too proud to admit to herself that it hurts like a bitch. She will cut out her own tongue before she tells anyone else, but she can at least admit it to herself._

_Barely._

_Himura is with the regular army, after a battle that took place yesterday afternoon. He sent word afterwards that he is fine and will be returning to visit her in two days, meaning that he will be here tomorrow. However, that does not help her with the current problem of having a few inches of a dagger broken off under her ribs. If she leaves it until Himura's return, it is possible that she will get some kind of fever and wind up dying. But her options are well beyond limited. She does not socialize with the other men that are here and does not trust them to remove the piece of steel. She does not want to ask one of the maids that work at the inn; she has enough to deal with and does not need a woman fainting at the sight of blood. There is, it would seem, only one option._

_"You look like shit, Zetsumei Kurohyou."_

_She stands in the doorway to his room, her katana still strapped to her back and her gi still stained with the blood of others. He leans against the frame of the door, that infuriating smirk on his face, wearing only a pair of loose fitting hakama. She closes her eyes, unable to look at him and still say what she came here to say. If she has to look at him, she might do something stupid; like try to gut him._

_"I need your help," she mutters, lifting one hand and blindly gesturing towards the wound just under her ribcage on the left side. She hears him chuckle, and then her eyes are flying open as muscled arms scoop her up and cradle her much too close to a toned male chest. Kurohyou struggles for an instant; she stops in the next when she feels the blade dig deeper._

_Makoto Shishio laughs at her as he carries her into his room, sliding the door shut behind him._

_"Feisty," he purrs into her hair, moving to the wall and setting her down. "I like that in my women."_

_His fellow assassin gives him a look that promises a slow, painful death if he does not stop talking and get to work._

_She knows he probes her insides more than is necessary. Shishio seems to derive some sort of perverse pleasure in her discomfort, especially when he's the one causing it. It feels like an age later when he finally pulls the blade from her body; his hands are coated with her blood and she is drawing in long, shaky breaths._

_"You're welcome," Shishio tells her before popping two of his fingers into his mouth and sucking the blood off, as if it's some infinitely delicious treat._

_Zetsumei Kurohyou hunches in on herself and puts her head in her hands. She hates this. She hates that she is a killer of hundreds at the age of seventeen. She hates the Yukishiro woman for making Himura fall in love with her, because if that had never happened he would still be her partner instead of this freak who likes the taste of her blood. She hates the men she kills with for treating her like a monster. She hates the men she kills for being alive to kill in the first place._

_She hates that she can't hate Himura for not being there anymore when she needs him._

_She hates herself. _

_"When you're done sulking, let me know. I'm feeling extra nice tonight; I'll patch that hole up for you. If you're going to cry, try to do it quietly, little panther. There's nothing more annoying than the sound of a woman's tears."_

_And Zetsumei Kurohyou really, __**really**__ hates Makoto Shishio._

_Wobbling slightly, the young killer gets to her feet. Slowly she makes her way to the shoji, and is about to slide it open so that she can leave when hands grasp her elbows and pull her back into a warm male chest._

_"You aren't invincible, you know," he growls softly in her ear. "If that dagger had broken off a few inches deeper, I wouldn't have been able to get it out. You would have died from the infection within a couple of days. You need to take better care of yourself, little panther."_

_Little panther; he has created a pet name for her. He has been using it with increasing regularity over the past few weeks._

_She __**hates**__ it. She __**hates**__ him._

_"What would you care if I were to die, Shishio?" she hisses, wrenching her arms out of his grasp and flinging the shoji open. She stomps out without a backward glance, leaving a trail of blood splatters in her wake._

_Like hell she's going to let him mutilate her further. She'll sew herself up._

_Since Himura isn't here to do it for her anymore._

* * *

When Midori woke up before dawn the next morning, her _gi_ gone, in unfamiliar surroundings, and with a pair of arms wrapped intimately around her body, she completely panicked. She let out a shout of fear, kicking her legs backwards and jerking her upper body from side to side in a desperate bid for freedom. The arms unhelpful tightened around her, causing her vision to dance with black spots from the intense pain in both her shoulders. Her throat unexpectedly filled with the coppery taste of blood, and she choked.

"Let her go, you idiot, you're going to suffocate her."

The arms around her disappeared and she rolled away, falling a very short distance before hitting the ground. Midori pushed herself up, hands grappling at her throat as she struggled to breathe. Something huge hit her hard on the back; blood sprayed from her mouth in globs as she finally started coughing.

"You're lucky I'm so nice, _onna_. You're getting blood all over my floor," a deep voice droned behind her. She spun on her heels, wobbling badly due to her crouched position. The giant in front of her took several steps back, a scowl splayed across his face.

"Don't cough at me, _onna_, you'll get blood on my cape!" he snapped, glaring down at her. Midori attempted to snarl at him; the affect was ruined when a renewed pressure on the top of her head sent her tumbling backwards to lie flat on her back, the blood pooling in her throat to choke her again. That jackass had kicked her over!

"Shishou!" Ah, and there was Himura. He gently lifted her shoulders as she fisted her hands in his gi and pulled herself up, bending her knees so that she could finish getting the blood out of her throat without getting it all over her _hakama_. Blood was a complete nuisance to get out of clothing.

"Don't scold me, you _baka_. I hope you know that you're the one that's cleaning all that up. She's _your_ friend." _Kami_, Midori hadn't even been awake around this man for five minutes and already she wanted to kill him. His voice practically oozed arrogance. She _hated_ arrogance. She growled as she rose to her feet, glaring daggers at the giant.

"Kick me again, you _kentsunoana," _she rasped, her throat hoarse from all the coughing, "and I will cut off your leg."

"Hn," he muttered, scowl morphing into an arrogant smirk that had her hackles rising. "Put your claws away. I don't feel like hurting such an innocent little _koneko_ so early in the morning."

_**Koneko**_?

That settled it for Midori. This man was going to _die_. _Now_.

Before her hand got halfway to the hilt of her katana, Midori was scooped up from behind. The next instant Himura had her out the door, running through the pre-dawn mist as fast as he could while she shouted obscenities at him.

"Goddamnit, Himura, you sorry bastard! Put me down! You stupid son-of-a-bitch, you put me down right now or I'll cut off something much more important than your leg! _Himura!! Put me down now!"_

They were deep in the woods when Himura finally stopped, setting her carefully on her feet and then dodging her fists as she turned on him.

"What the hell are you doing, Himura?!"

He backed away hastily, raising his hands before him in a gesture of lassitude. "I'm sorry, _kabu_; I can't let you kill Shishou yet, and if we had stayed there you might have. I had to get you away from…temptation."

"That arrogant bastard is your _master_?!"

Himura nodded.

Midori attempted to take a step forward, intending on returning to the hut, only to have her leg crumple underneath her like a twig snapping under pressure. She shot out a hand and grabbed the nearest object for support; she clutched the fabric of Himura's _gi_ tightly in her fist as she tried to steady herself. Himura quickly put his arms around her.

"You lost too much blood to be moving so soon, _kabu_. Shishou and I changed the bandages on your arm, but the bandages on your torso are also bloodied." He looked at her inquiringly. "Did Shishio injure you?"

Panic swirled in her gut. "Please tell me you didn't change those."

Carefully Himura lowered them both to the ground, sitting next to her with Midori's hands still fisted in his _gi_. "No. Shishou removed your _gi_ to get the blood out, but neither of us touched the bandages around your torso. I…didn't think you would appreciate it if we did."

Midori sighed in relief; that would mean that Himura was still unaware that her scars were bleeding for whatever reason, and she did not intent to inform him of the phenomenon if she could avoid it. Eventually she knew that he would demand an answer, but she would really rather stall that conversation for as long as possible.

_It's nothing, Himura. The scar you gave me ten years ago when you tried to kill me is simply bleeding again for no apparent reason. Oh, and the wound I received from Saito is bleeding as well. Truly, there's nothing for you to worry about._

Somehow Midori doubted that such an explaination would sit well with Himura. She did, however, have much that she needed to explain to him. Now would be as good a time as any. Suddenly realizing that her fingers were still wrapped around the fabric of Himura's _gi_, Midori self-consciously extracted them and looked away from him, trying not to blush in embarrassment.

"You asked me once if I tended the wound you gave me on my own," she murmured softly. She made to shift away from him slightly and tensed when his arms, which she had failed to notice were still wrapped around her, drew her closer to her friend.

"I remember." Himura's voice rolled out of his chest, coiling in the air around them like a physical presence rather than a sound. Midori shuddered at the feeling and risked a glance at Himura's face; he was regarding her with those indigo-blue eyes she was so fond of, an unreadable expression on his face. She looked away quickly, her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

"Shishio found me. After you…stabbed me. He took me to a hut somewhere near Kyoto; had an acquaintance of his clean the wound and sew me up. He told me that I was unconscious for five days with a high fever before I woke up. He told me who it was that was spreading rumors of my supposed treachery. We…slept together. He left the next day."

She stopped when Himura's arms grew painfully tight around her.

"Continue." His voice was lethal now; the air around her seemed to thicken as he began growling ever-so-softly, the vibrations from his chest causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. Midori really wished she hadn't told him that she and Shishio had slept together. Obviously that had been a bad idea.

"After we parted ways, I didn't see him for over a year. I…wandered. Just drifted from place to place, without a goal or a purpose. I had nowhere to go, no one to turn to for a home. I just…wandered.

"At one point I settled for a while in a small house away from everything. It was peaceful, quiet; I thought to settle there permanently. But I had only been there for a couple of months before I woke up one night to hear screams and smell fire. Gods, Himura, the smell…I've never smelt anything like it. I went to investigate and found Shishio crawling through a field, his entire body on fire. He was screaming…I've never been able to forget that sound. I still hear those screams in my sleep…

"I nursed him back to health for about seven months. Once he was able I sent him on his way. That's why I've spent the last month with him. He's grown obsessed with me; he wants me to help him get his revenge by taking over Japan. Yesterday, when I was trying to get Kaoru, Yahiko, and myself out of his presence without getting any of us killed, the only things he asked me for were a kiss and my name. He knew that he could have asked me to do anything to prove my supposed loyalty to him, and all he asked for was a kiss and my name. He's insane, Himura. He…frightens me."

For a time the two were silent, each lost in their own thoughts. When Himura spoke again, the timbre of his voice sent shivers down Midori's spine, and she knew without looking that his eyes would be deep amber in color.

"You saved Shishio's life?" he asked her, tightening his arms even further around her.

"Yes.

"…Why?"

She squirmed uncomfortably in his too-tight grasp. "Because he had saved mine. I simply evened the score between us."

He made no reply to her statement. Abruptly he stood, dragging her up with him and letting her go as soon as they were both standing. He turned his back on her, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"We should go back," he said, not looking at her. "Shishou will want to begin my training. You should leave soon."

Midori stared at his retreating back as he walked away from her, confusion and fury building steadily. Himura…was angry with her? _Why_? What _right_ did he have to be angry at her? He was angry because she had saved Shishio's life?

Or was he simply angry that Shishio had saved her?

Midori trailed through the woods behind him, her fury boiling barely beneath the skin as she stumbled along on weakened legs. Himura wanted her to leave. Well, too damned bad for him. If she left now, Shishio's men would pick her off before she returned to Tokyo. Midori refused to go back to that madman. She refused to be subjected to his obsession again. Their debt was settled; she owed him nothing. Let the char-broiled bastard try to conquer Japan. If he did – good for him. If he failed – oh, well. It was not Midori's problem. She would stay near Himura's master's place until she felt less ill. Once she was well enough, she would leave. Himura would just have to deal with her until then.

By the gods, her luck in male company was dreadful.

* * *

Himura's training did not seem to be going well.

Midori clutched the tree branch she was perched on and leaned out further, eyes trained on Himura's prone form. It had been three days since the bastard had spoken a word to her. Three days since she had stumbled her way back to his master's hut, collected her belongings, and found a decent place in the nearby woods to camp out for the time being.

Three days of watching him get his ass kicked by his master.

She had had little contact with Hiko Seijuro. After she returned to his hut, she had spoken to him only to ask what he had done with the _gi_ she had been wearing upon arriving. He had given it back to her without a word. Midori suspected that Hiko knew she was observing his training of Himura, but so far he had not complained.

"Why don't you come down here, _onna_, instead of spying on us like some kind of pervert?"

Apparently that was about to end.

In seconds Midori was crouched on the rock outcropping Hiko and Himura had come to train every day. The waterfall beside them sprayed the area with cool mist, quickly dampening Midori's hair and clothing. She cast a glance at Himura, sprawled out unconscious next to her with an egg-shaped lump on his head. His chest rose and fell steadily, indicating to her that his breathing wasn't labored. He would be fine – minus the killer headache he would have when he woke up. Midori turned her eyes back to the imposing figure of Hiko Seijuro, seated across from her on the rock with a large jar of _sake_ sitting beside him.

"Satisfied that he's not going to die on you?" he smirked, his black eyes openly laughing at her.

"If he can survive the last three days of you beating the shit out of him, somehow I doubt that he'll die from a bump on the head," she shot back, arranging her limbs so that she sat cross-legged next to Himura, her hands gripping her knees lightly.

"Such filthy language from such a pretty lady," Hiko mused, picking up the _sake_ jug next to him. Midori snorted.

"I am not a lady," she corrected him, eyes following his hands as he uncorked the jug and raised it to his lips. "Ladies do not have blood on their souls. If you are planning on using flattery to soften me before asking questions, don't bother. Just ask."

The giant across from her smirked again as he recapped his jug. "You're not one to beat around the bush, are you? Alright, _onna_, how do you know my _baka_ _deshi_? I've already spoken to that girl from Tokyo and the brat that came with her; they said you know him from the Bakumatsu. Is that true?"

She nodded, glancing again at Himura. "He was my partner of sorts. We were both assassins until he transferred to the regular army. We were…friends."

Midori felt something clench as she said that. _Were_. As in past tense. Were they friends now? She didn't know anymore. He had tried to kill her because of orders and now starred in her nightmares every time it rained; she had been saved by a madman, saved his life in return, and now said madman was obsessed with her. She had loved him; he had just recently confessed that he loved her. She had allowed a power-hungry maniac to kiss her to protect people Himura cared about; and Himura was angry at her.

What were they now, exactly?

"You love that _baka_, don't you?" Hiko's voice broke through her confused thoughts, and she focused on him again.

"What?" She was somewhat shocked by his blunt question. Hiko scoffed at her.

"I asked you if you loved him, _onna_. Keep up with the conversation." That earned him a glare that would have killed a lesser man. Hiko seemed un-phased, which only served to piss Midori off.

"What makes that your business, _kentsunoana?" _she snapped, hands now gripping her knees tight enough to hurt. Hiko smirked yet again.

"That's an obvious yes. If you didn't want me to know, you should have just lied and said no. And stop calling me an ass, _onna_. It's annoying." The man got to his feet as he spoke, looking down his nose at her in a condescending manner. Oh, she _hated_ this man.

"That is usually the point with insults," she snarked, getting to her feet as well. She tensed when Hiko proceeded to draw his blade, her hand automatically shooting up to the hilt of her own.

"I noticed you've been carrying that thing around. Let's see how well you can use it."

With that he leapt into the sky.

Shit. She had seen that attack before; it was one of Himura's favorites. Midori was fairly confident that she could dodge, but Himura was lying knocked out next to her. If she left him, his master might hit him by mistake – or on purpose, she really wasn't sure with this guy.

Hiko's descending figure was drawing nearer by the second. She needed to move.

Letting go of her _katana's_ hilt, Midori swooped down and snatched up the prone body of Himura before flinging herself backwards as strongly as she could from a crouched position. They shot back, Himura's foot clearing the danger zone just as Hiko's blade met the ground. As soon as her feet touched ground again Midori sprang back once more. She would leave Himura in the safety of the trees while she dealt with his master.

Setting Himura against the trunk of a tree, she then scaled it before bending her knees on the tallest branch that would support her weight and leaping upwards. She shot out of the forest's canopy like a ball fired from a cannon, knees still bent and drawn _katana_ held at an angle in front of her. Hiko met her in mid-air, blade clanging against hers and pushing her back. She used the force behind his thrust to her advantage, flipping backwards while in the air to land on her feet on a high tree branch and springing at him again instantly even as the tree branch snapped under her weight. Just to piss him off, Midori had angled herself so that she sailed over his head just out of his reach – but still close enough to land a kick to the back of his head, as a repayment of his actions her first day here.

She angled her blade over her left shoulder as soon as she landed, barely in time to intercept Hiko's attack before he cut her. Pivoting, she tried to get behind him; but the big man obviously knew what she intended to do, as a well-muscled leg suddenly shot out to kick her squarely in the chest before she could get completely around him. It knocked her back even as it knocked the breath from her lungs and set her right side on fire. She was forced to flip backwards again to get out of range, wincing as she landed. Damn, that hurt. Saito's wound was bleeding again, Midori could feel it under her chest bindings; she had only just managed to make that one stop bleeding the night before, and hadn't coughed once all day. But she didn't have time to worry about that now, Hiko was bearing down on her again; his _katana_ whistled sharply as it sliced through the air at amazing speeds, aimed straight at her heart.

Just before it would have impaled her, Midori locked her knees and let her body from lower thigh up fall backwards. As soon as the blade was parallel with her Midori swung her own blade, catching Hiko's and forcing it down and to the side as she righted herself to come face to face with her grinning opponent. It seemed that he was enjoying this.

"Not bad, _onna_," he said in a voice dripping with sarcastic praise.

And then he pulled his head back, threw it forward sharply, and head butted her. Hard.

"But not good enough!" Hiko continued as he used his superior strength to force her blade from his, throwing off her footing and setting the disoriented woman stumbling. She barely managed to raise her blade enough to block his next blow, and was shocked when Hiko began walking her backwards even as she strained not to move.

But her shock was nothing compared to what ran through her a moment later when the ground abruptly disappeared from under her feet and she was sent plummeting downwards.

Hiko had just pushed her off the edge of the rock.

As Midori fell to the river below, Hiko's last mocking laugh echoing in her ears, all she could think – aside from _ow_ _I hope my nose isn't broken_ – was '_Damn_, _I hate that man_.'

* * *

When Midori trudged back to her makeshift camp sometime later, soaked to the bone and coughing again, she was in an extremely bad mood. It had taken her at least half an hour to get out of the damn river; the currents have been strong and had carried her far. When she finally made it back to the rock outcropping, she was met with no one, as Himura and Hiko had apparently retired already. On top of that, the sky was overcast; rain beat down on her in a steady sheet. As if Midori wasn't wet enough as it was.

When she noticed the figure sitting before her fire pit, sheathed _sakabato_ held against his chest, Midori's mood darkened even further. Tearing her _katana_ from her back, she threw herself to the ground to sit across from Himura and tossed her weapon to the side.

"What?" she snarled, glaring at the red head for an instant before pulling her _gi_ away from her chest to examine her breast bindings. Both sides were scarlet again. Midori growled in frustration, wishing a painful malady on Hiko Seijuro in repayment for opening up Saito's wound again.

"You're bleeding." It was a quiet statement, barely audible over the downpour, but Midori heard it.

"No shit, Himura," she snapped at him, readjusting her _gi_ and turning her eyes back to him. "Your master is a bastard. He kicked me in the chest during a spar earlier and reopened my –"

"That's not what I am talking about, Midori."

Her patience with him thinned considerably when he used her name. He only ever called her that when he was pissed with her or very, very upset. Right now, she was pretty sure he was pissed.

"Then what are you talking about, _Battousai_?" she sneered, yanking the tie from her soaked hair and letting the rain beat it down. Clearing her throat, she bent her head between her knees and spat a wad of bloody goop onto the muddy ground before her. Apparently that stupid wound bled internally every time it was aggravated, which meant she coughed up blood every time as well. Wonderful.

"I am referring to the scar you bear from my blade. It's bleeding."

Her head snapped up in surprise, wide eyes only getting wider when they met with deep amber orbs that seemed to sear her where she sat. A dull flush crept up her throat even as a chill coursed down her spine. She shook it off, narrowing her eyes to glare at her unwanted companion.

"That's none of your concern," she snapped, fisting her hands in the soaked knees of her _hakama_. The black curtain of her bangs did nothing to hide the look that swept over Himura's face at her words, or the gleam that entered his eyes as he smoothly rose to his feet. He stalked towards her around the edge of her fire pit, his _sakabato_ on the ground by where he had sat. She rose to stand as well as he came to a stop, mere inches separating them, and reached out his hands to tightly grip her upper arms.

"Is it Makoto Shishio's concern?" he growled, pulling Midori even closer until they were almost chest-to-chest, his breath washing over her wet face as his soaked bangs dripped rain water on her. Angry, Midori raised her hands and placed them flat on his chest, attempting to push him away; he merely tightened his hold on her until she let out a hiss of pain.

"Why are you still here, Midori?" he demanded, his voice that low, lethal tone that scared the hell out of her. "I told you to leave. Instead you've been spying on me for three days. Are you working for Shishio? Are you reporting my progress back to him?"

Midori froze from where she was struggling to free herself, her eyes darting upwards to look at him in complete shock. _What?_

"You think that I am betraying you?" she demanded. "You think I would sell you out to Shishio?"

"You slept with him," Himura growled back; if he squeezed her arms any harder he was going to break the bones. "What am I supposed to believe? As far as I know, you have been working for him for years; your arrival at Kaoru-_dono's_ dojo could have been set up by Shishio. You might be working for him even now, as a means to get revenge on me."

Midori felt like someone had just slapped her in the face. Slowly, her eyes lowered again until she was staring blankly at Himura's chest. Her voice, when she spoke, was lifeless.

"I slept with Makoto Shishio one time, right after I found out that my only friend in the world had attempted to kill me because a well known storyteller spun rumors that I had sold myself to the enemies for my friend's continued safety. I have never done so again. I feel nothing for Shishio. There is only one man whom I have ever loved; one man whom I would die for, kill for, burn a nation to the ground for; one man that I would never betray, even for revenge of his betrayal of me. And now it is apparent that that one man does not even trust me."

Woodenly she extracted herself from his loosened grasp; stumbled back a few steps before turning her back on him. The rain poured down, soaking her cheeks, but Midori didn't want to take the chance that Himura would distinguish her tears.

"What will it take?" she choked out, fisting her hands at her sides. "What must I do to make you trust me like you used to? What will it take to make you trust me like you did before you _betrayed_ me? Do you want me to kill Shishio? Do you want me to let _him_ kill _me_? Do _you_ want to kill me? To complete your mission from ten years ago? _What_? Tell me what I have to _do_!"

Midori was sobbing by now; sinking to her knees on the muddy ground with her hands buried in her hair and her back to the man she _still_ loved, even after everything she had been through because of him. She knelt there as the sobs shook her body and scalded her soul, alone in the world with nothing but her grief. Why would he accuse her of betraying him? Why would he think that of her? Why did he not trust her? Why, _why_, _**why**_??

She didn't fight when Himura pulled her into his lap. She didn't fight when he wrapped his arms around her sobbing body, or when he buried his face in her hair, or when he whispered apologies over and over as he held her. But she also didn't miss that he never said the three words that she longed to hear from him; three words more important to her than 'I love you'; three words that she had always taken for granted were true, and now was sure were not.

Because not once did Himura say 'I trust you'.

And Midori despaired at her chances of ever hearing those words from him again.

* * *

_A/N: Please review._


	19. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori was my idea.

This will have a sort-of-kind-of smut scene. I've never written smut before, and I'm not going all out like this is some kind of porno novel. If you aren't impressed you'll just have to live with it.

* * *

_Zetsumei Kurohyou only meets Tomoe Yukishiro one time in private._

_She has seen the woman before, of course, in the dining hall serving the men and once or twice cleaning different rooms. She had heard that Himura had brought the woman back with him after an assignment one night, but Himura had not mentioned the woman and Kurohyou did not bring it up. It is not her business what her friend does in his spare time; if he wants to talk to her about the woman, she will listen, but she will not pester him about it like that idiot Izuka._

_She is in the back entrance room attempting to clean the gash on her side, gi crumpled in a heap on the floor and chest covered only with her breast-binding when the door slides open and that woman walks in. Yukishiro stops as she is about to close the door, and even in the dim lighting from the hallway Kurohyou can see that she is surprised. She ignores her and continues trying to staunch the blood flow from the rather deep wound. Himura is going to have a field day; he's always so protective of her, and tends to throw miniature temper tantrums at her whenever she gets herself hurt. He will be coming in from assignment any minute now, and Kurohyou idly wonders if Yukishiro is here waiting for him._

_"Do you…require assistance?"_

_She glances back at the woman, who has closed the door and now stands directly beside her, hands clasped primly in front of her. Normally she would at least consider the offer, but she doesn't know exactly what Himura feels for this woman and is unsure how he would react if he were to return and find the woman with Kurohyou's blood on her hands. Besides, the woman is wearing the same white kimono she always seems to wear; she'd never get blood out of that._

_"No," the assassin replies, sidestepping Yukishiro and nabbing the roll of bandages that are always kept in this room. She hears a gasp and turns an eye back to the woman as she begins wrapping the bandages tightly around herself. The woman is staring at her with wide, shocked eyes, her feminine hands now at her throat._

_"What is it?" The bandages are staining red from her blood; she will have to wrap several layers to keep from getting blood on her clothing._

_"Your…your back…" the woman murmurs. Kurohyou's frown deepens in realization. Her breast bindings leave much of her back visible; the woman would have seen her deep scars when she turned away from her. Shrugging, the assassin continues to wrap her wound as the door to the outside is slid open and Himura steps in. Shooting a glance in his direction, she is not surprised to see the scowl on his face. She gives him a look that plainly tells him to keep his opinions to himself until they are alone before tearing the length of bandage she has used from the remainder of the roll. The unused portion she tosses to Himura._

_"Just on the off chance you actually got injured like a normal person," she says to his confused look; said look quickly becomes a scowl again as she makes her way out the door and towards the room she sleeps in. Katsura-sama is gone for the night at some meeting, so she will make her report to him tomorrow._

_"Ano…"_

_Kurohyou glances back to see that the woman is following her, a lump of black cloth in her delicate hands. She had walked out of that room without her gi. She quickly takes it from the woman, checking to make sure none of the blood that coated the garment has stained the woman's kimono._

_"Thank you," she mutters, turning to continue her trek to her room. A small sound from the woman stops her, and Kurohyou casts a slightly annoyed eye back at her. "Yes?"_

_"Gomen," Yukishiro whispers, clenching her hands around each other. "I was wondering…you and Himura-san…I…are the two of you…"_

_"Ask, Yukishiro-san," the assassin interrupts her bluntly. "I have killed five men tonight, I have been wounded, and I am tired. What do you want to know?"_

_"Ano…are you and Himura-san…together?" Yukishiro's face has become slightly pink and her already soft voice is almost inaudible._

_Zetsumei Kurohyou stares at the woman before her, totally thrown. This is not what she expected._

_"You are asking me if I am the Battousai's woman?" she inquires, not even attempting to hide her surprise at such a question. Yukishiro, looking mortified at her bluntness, gives a very small nod._

_She can't help herself; she begins to laugh. Quickly she tries to stop, because of the pain laughter causes to the wound in her side. Yukishiro is staring at her with a bewildered look on her face, as though she does not know whether she should be insulted for being laughed at or afraid of the apparently insane woman standing before her with a katana on her back. It takes almost a full minute for the assassin to answer without risk of more laughter._

_"Rest assured, Yukishiro-san, that Himura is most definitely a free agent. He is all yours."_

_Without waiting for the woman to reply, Kurohyou turns and quickly heads for her room. She needs to be alone so that she can indulge in the bubble of laughter welling up in her chest, and she doesn't want to insult the woman further by laughing in her face. It is not Tomoe Yukishiro's fault that her question is so damn funny. How is she to know that Himura and Kurohyou are just friends? The idea of them as anything more is beyond hilarious to the young killer._

_Later, Zetsumei Kurohyou will look back at that conversation and wish with all her heart and soul that she had lied through her teeth – if for no other motive that to keep Himura as far as possible from Tomoe Yukishiro, the wife he would one day slay with his own blade._

_Later, she will realize that the idea is not so funny anymore._

* * *

Midori sank into the hot springs with a sigh of contentment.

She had been feeling ill for the last few days, probably from the combination of blood loss and getting soaked. Today she had actually fallen out of the tree she had been perched in to watch Himura's training; she had suddenly lost her balance, and the next thing she knew she had been lying in a heap on the forest floor. Luckily she had been far enough away that neither Himura nor that bastard Hiko had seen her.

Midori had decided to call it a day early, and had gone in search of a natural hot springs. There were many scattered around the countryside near Kyoto, and her Myoushu had always told her that the best way to find relief when you were feeling ill was to bathe in the nearest hot springs. She had used his advice often in the past; she did so today without pause. Besides, a nice soak would feel heavenly on her achy muscles.

She spread her arms across the lip of the spring in which she was soaking, leaned her head back, and let her mind wander as the setting sun painted the sky in hues of pink and purple.

They had been here a week now. Himura had only sought her out that day Hiko had shoved her into the river, and she was making a conscious effort to avoid him. She didn't want to see the accusation in his eyes. She didn't want to hear the anger in his voice. She didn't want to have to look at him and know that all of this was his fault anyway: if Himura had never fallen in love, she would never have met Makoto Shishio, and if Himura had never betrayed her in the first place, Midori wouldn't have slept with Makoto Shishio. So really, this entire mess that qualified as Midori's life was Himura's fault.

She should have just left. She should have gotten out of that pool, gathered her belongings, and made a run for it. She should have just disappear until Himura and Shishio had killed each other; until neither of them could fuck up her life anymore and she didn't have to continually look over her shoulder. However, the problem with that plan was that every time Midori considered leaving Himura to die, it felt like she was having her heart ripped out of her chest.

She should hate Himura for not trusting her. She should hate him for trying to kill her. She should hate him for thinking that he still had a right to judge her actions after everything he had put her through. She should hate him enough to want to kill him herself.

She _should not_ love him to the degree that even considering his death made her stomach cramp and her chest ache.

Midori was at a loss to understand her own feelings. Himura had betrayed her; stabbed her; practically molested her when he bandaged her wound from Saito. Speaking of Saito – Himura had interfered with her revenge there as well! He had knocked her out from behind like a coward instead of letting her exact the blood-debt owed to her by the man who had slain her master in cold blood. Himura had come to Kyoto, probably to fight Shishio to get the government off his back, and had put Yahiko and Kaoru in danger – which _Midori_ had then saved them from. Midori had stabbed Chou Sawagejo in the diaphragm and risked angering Shishio in order to protect Himura. And instead of being grateful to her for putting her own neck at risk to help _his_ friends and protect _him_ as well as she could from Shishio, Himura had the gall to be angry at Midori for sleeping with Shishio _one time_ over ten years ago. The fact that Shishio had just saved her life after Himura tried to end it was of course completely ignored.

Why, exactly, was she in love with him again?

Midori closed her eyes and let out another sigh.

What was morbidly funny about this whole mess she was tangled up in was that she would doubtlessly be better off with Shishio. As insane as his plan for the domination of Japan had originally sounded, Shishio actually had quite a good chance of pulling it off. If he didn't end up getting himself killed or frying himself by physically pushing his body too far, Makoto Shishio had an excellent chance to bring the Meiji government toppling to its knees. And he seemed dead set of having Midori there by his side as he did so. Midori supposed that she could do worse for herself than to have a brilliant strategist and lethal swordsman who was utterly obsessed with her – who maybe even loved her in his own sick, fucked up way.

The problem with _that_ lay in the fact that Midori didn't give two shits about Shishio.

That was what was really funny, in an annoying and ironic kind of way. Shishio had never betrayed her; never made an attempt on her life; never come close to sexually forcing himself on her. He had repeatedly tried to make her tell him who had stabbed her in the right shoulder; Midori was almost positive he had wanted to know so that he could have whoever was responsible killed. She was absolutely certain that Shishio would not interfere if she chose to engage a person in a death match; he had too much confidence in her abilities and no compunction about killing someone or letting someone be killed. Shishio was planning the overthrow of the government that had ordered Midori's assassinations for superficial reasons of male pride; the same government that threatened Himura now with her execution for non-existent crimes in order to force Himura to do their bidding. When Midori had gone out on a limb to save Shishio's life after he was doused with oils and left to burn, Shishio had not rewarded her with misplaced fury. Instead, his previous infatuation with annoying the hell out of her whenever possible had apparently morphed into an obsessive form of love.

Now he was offering her a place by his side as his woman in this new vision of Japan he hoped to create. Shishio was offering her security, stability, trust – for kami's sake, the man was offering her _love_. His _heart_ on a silver platter.

And still, when she thought about Shishio dying, the resulting mental image wasn't even enough to scratch the surface of the walls she had erected around her battered heart. Not even enough for the smallest level of discomfort, when the same picture of Himura lying in a pool of his own blood with dead eyes was nearly enough to send her into convulsions.

Midori groaned miserably. Her heart was _such_ a traitor.

* * *

When she jerked awake several hours later in the light of a full moon, she knew instantly that she was not alone anymore.

The wiry arms wrapped around her waist tightened as soon as her head shot up from its previous position against a bare shoulder. She found herself being pressed up against a toned body from behind, her bottom resting in her captor's lap; she had to wonder for a moment just how the hell the other person had been able to move her without waking her. Barely had the question crossed her mind then the slight nighttime breeze blew a strand of fiery red hair into her line of vision. Midori immediately tensed up.

"I see you're awake."

Shit. What was _he_ doing here?

"Shishou saw you fall out of that tree earlier."

Gods, was there _anything_ that man didn't see?

"He thinks that you might have developed a fever or a cold from the rain the other day. He sent me to make sure that you didn't have any more mishaps for the evening. I followed you here."

Did that mean he had watched her undress? Midori's face flamed red in embarrassment and she squirmed in his grasp, feeling utterly humiliated. Behind her, Himura let out an almost pained groan and buried his face in her unbound and wet hair, nuzzling her shoulder blade. Midori froze again.

"Don't," Himura breathed against her hair and skin, sending a violent shiver coursing through her body. "Don't do that, _kabu_. My control is stretching very, _very_ thin."

So they were back to pet names, were they? Well, that was just _wonderful_. If she had known that all she had to do to get Himura to be happy with her again was to let him take liberties with her person and let him play the voyeur and stalk her, they would have made up days ago.

Sarcasm aside, a small bubble of pleasure came into being deep in her heart at hearing her _ninjin_ use his nickname for her. She hadn't realized how much she missed hearing him call her that until he started doing so again.

One of the hands previously resting on her hips rose smoothly out of the hot water, disappearing from her line of sight over her left shoulder. A moment later she flinched slightly when that same hand was laid flat up against her back, the palm directly over the scar that marked the exit point of Himura's blade so long ago. Himura set his chin on her right shoulder and sighed heavily, his hot breath raising goose bumps on the side of Midori's neck and face.

"It still bleeds?" he whispered in her ear. Midori found herself having to swallow hard before she could answer.

"Small amounts. I don't know why."

"It causes you pain?"

"Sometimes."

They sat in silence for a time, the night quiet but for the sound of their breathing. Midori was trying hard not to think about the fact that Himura had watched her undress; trying hard not to think about the fact that she was sitting in his lap completely nude while he held her, nude as well and obviously not bothered by it. She was trying – and failing miserably – not to notice the hard, throbbing appendage currently pressing hotly against her lower back.

"I owe you an apology."

Midori was yanked from her desperate attempt to think of anything other than the man holding her in his lap when he spoke those words in her ear.

"The other day when I spoke to you, I accused you of spying on me for Shishio. I said that I did not doubt that you were capable of such a thing because you had…slept with him. It was wrong of me to say that. It was wrong of me to judge you like that."

"Why did you?" Midori asked softly, closing her eyes again and allowing herself to relax slightly against Himura's warm chest.

"Jealousy," he murmurs, skimming the tip of his nose up and down the line of her neck. "I was jealous that you would share yourself like that with a man like Shishio. He is a monster, _kabu_. Surely you can see that?"

"People have said the same of me all my life, Himura," Midori immediately retorted, eyes snapping open and spine tensing yet again. "They call me a monster, a freak; just like Shishio. Did you know that my earliest memory is of my birth parents selling me into slavery because of the color of my eyes? Because they were afraid of their own child? Because they believed that their five-year-old daughter was a tool of the demons?"

She had never talked to him about that. The only person she had ever shared that with was her Myoushu.

Midori removed Himura's other arm from around her and scooted away, settling again directly across from him in the softly bubbling spring. She crossed her arms over her chest, more out of habit than for the sake of her modesty, and leveled her green gaze at her companion.

"When we fought together in the Bakumatsu, everyone around us was terrified of us. After you came out into the open and began fighting as a soldier instead of an assassin, all of that fear was directed at me. None of the men I killed with would share a cup of sake with me; none of them would eat in the same room with me as I ate. None of them could even look at me and not flinch or cower in fear of the woman with the cat's eyes. It didn't matter to them that I was fighting on their side. All of them knew what happened to the men who kidnapped and raped me, and most of them didn't blame those animals for what they did to me. Most of them were more outraged by my revenge than by the treatment I was dealt.

"They called me a monster, too. They called me a demon sent from hell. So how does that make me any different from Shishio, who you now call a monster?"

Midori tore her eyes from Himura's face and gazed instead at the heavens once again, a weight of despair settling in her chest.

"I accept your apology, Kenshin," she murmured softly, sinking lower into the steaming water. "I accept it, but do not think that you know Makoto Shishio. Do not make that assumption. Do not make the assumption that you know why I slept with him, because you could never begin to understand. You will never know what it is to learn that the person that you love most in the world would have willingly killed you. You will never know what it is to turn to someone like Makoto Shishio for the types of comfort that you would much rather have from the person you love."

Midori heard the soft intake of breath, the slight rippling of the water, and let a smile pull at the corners of her mouth.

"I was thinking earlier," she mused quietly, returning her gaze to Himura, "that my life would be so much simpler if I could just leave you to die."

Himura said nothing. He watched her with those sad lavender eyes, his shoulders hunching slightly in apparent defeat. His entire person seemed to droop with misery.

Midori flowed smoothly back across to him, straddling his lap and taking his now-shocked face between her calloused hands. It was time to tell him. It was time to show him exactly what she felt for him; time to stop running away from her feelings. It was time to put her heart in his hands forever.

"It _would_ be simpler," she continued, "but I could never do it. I love you too much to kill you. I love you too much to let Shishio kill you. I love you, Kenshin Himura. I will always love you, even if it leads to my death."

Very slowly, her half-lidded eyes holding his surprised gaze the entire time, Midori leaned forward and pressed her lips to Himura in a lingering kiss. She pulled back enough to rest her forehead against his, grinning softly at the astonished look on his face.

"You should never feel jealous of Shishio," she whispered, rubbing circles into his cheekbones with her thumbs. "I would kill Shishio myself before I allowed him to end your life. I would sell my body to him forever if it meant keeping you safe. I may have slept with Makoto Shishio, but the only thing I ever shared with him was my body. My heart has always been yours, and it _will_ always be yours Kenshin. Only yours."

This time is was Himura who moved towards her, catching her mouth with his and kissing her with a passion so intense she could feel heat flare all over her body. The world shifted around her, and Midori found herself pressed gently against the lip of the hot springs; intense golden eyes met hers for a long moment and rough hands stroked softly up and down her side.

"Are you sure?" he asked, voice lowered to that lethally frightening timbre he used when he was deadly serious.

"Yes," she replied strongly. She was sure. She wanted to give this to Himura. She wanted to form that bond with him. She wanted to be his, and for him to be hers. She was sure.

"I…I have nothing to give you…nothing to offer you…"

"Tell me that you trust me," Midori commanded, griping his forearm. "Tell me that I will have your trust and your love."

"Of course. I do trust you. You have my love. But…"

"No," she cut him off; releasing his forearm and stroking up to his shoulder and back down in a tender manner. "That is all that I require from you, Kenshin. That is all that I will ever require. Nothing else matters to me."

"I don't deserve you," Himura whispered, anguish flashing across his face. "I betrayed you. I nearly killed you, just like Tomoe. I…I don't deserve you, my _kabu_."

"But I _am_ yours," Midori argued gently, taking one of his stroking hands and pressing it over her heart. "This will _always_ be yours, _ninjin_."

Whatever was holding him back seemed to snap at her use of the pet name, for he was suddenly kissing her again, tracing her bottom lip with his tongue before pulling it into his mouth and sucking on it. His hands were everywhere: on her breasts, tangled in her hair, delicately fingering her inner thigh. Midori let out a moan as he moved from her mouth to her neck, trailing delicate kisses and nibbling bites as he descended ever lower.

"Say my name," he murmured against her collar bone, his teeth scraping her skin before his tongue laved gently at the spot. "Say my name. Tell me you love me. _Please, kabu, tell me you love me."_

"I love you, Kenshin Himura," Midori breathed, tangling her fingers in his glorious hair. "I love you, Kenshin.

"I love you."

Some time later, when their passion was spent and their bodies exhausted, Zetsumei Kurohyou lay in the grass snuggled up with Himura Battousai and sighed sleepily.

"How much longer are we staying here, _ninjin_?" Midori whispered into Himura's chest.

"I have finally managed to land a hit on Shishou. Tomorrow he has promised to begin teaching me the final technique of the _Hiten_ _Mitsurugi_-_Ryu_. After I master that, we will return to Kyoto."

"Are Kaoru-dono and Yahiko-chan still in the area?"

"Yes. I sent them to the Aoi-Ya. Misao-chan and Okito-san with protect them until our return. I'm sure Sano will turn up soon, as well."

Midori smiled at the thought of seeing her new friend again. "That is good. We may need his help in the oncoming fight."

Himura's arms, which had been looped loosely around her torso, tightened at her words. "We can't ask him to fight; it's too dangerous. He could be killed."

"Any of us could be killed, Kenshin. Trust me: if Sano is in Kyoto, he is here to fight. He is not so stupid that he would be unaware of the risks involved. Do not insult him by denying him his chance to fight with us. Let him choose for himself what he is to do."

Himura sighed, pulling her closer to bury his face in her hair. "What are the chances that I can convince _you_ not to fight with me? That I can convince you to stay safely behind at the Aoi-Ya while I deal with Shishio and his men?"

The female former assassin laughed, closing her eyes and burying her own face in the chest of the man she loved.

"Not a chance in Hell, Himura. Not a chance in Hell."

* * *

_"It's not what you think, kabu."_

_Zetsumei Kurohyou says nothing. She is sitting in the inn's small private garden, a jug of sake between her and her friend Himura. Several empty jugs litter the ground around them, and Himura's voice is slurred accordingly._

_"I don't think of her like that," he insists, a blush staining his cheeks as he glares at her. "She's just another woman. She means nothing to me."_

_Kurohyou grins to herself as she scoops up the sake jug and takes a long swig. She knew when she made that comment about Himura making eyes at the Yukishiro woman that it would rile him up. It was so funny to watch this cold-blooded killer blush and get all flustered at the thought of a woman._

_"That's not what **I** think," she taunts him, waving the jug back and forth. "**I** think Himura has been struck with the blade called love. **I** think Himura's in denial. **I** think Himura's really madly in love with Yukishiro-san."_

_"I am not in love with her!" he hisses, snatching the jug from her hands and downing the rest of the liquor in one go. Kurohyou snickers at him._

_"De-ni-al," she practically sings. "I seem to recall you snarling at those two idiots that were talking about how pretty she is. Or what about scaring the shit out of that poor boy who accidentally ran into her in the hall the other day? __**Or**__, what about the tongue lashing you gave that jackass Izuka when he was asking you how good she is in bed?"_

_Himura fails to reply, instead choosing to grumble incoherently at the empty sake jug. Kurohyou's grin grows wider. She scoots over to his side and rests her head on his shoulder, elbowing him lightly in the ribs._

_"Just talk to her," she whispers to her friend, all teasing gone from her voice. "You don't have to recite poetry or any of that shit. Ask her about herself. Ask about her family, her likes, her dislikes. Tell her about you. Just get to know her, Himura. Don't be such a coward."_

_"What if she doesn't like me?" Himura mumbles, sounding like the fifteen-year-old boy he is instead of the ageless killer he has become; obviously he is very drunk to ask such a question. Kurohyou puts her arm around him and draws him into a tight one armed hug._

_"Any woman would be lucky to have one such as you, ninjin," she tells him gently. "Don't worry about that. She just needs to get to know you, and her heart will be yours. I promise."_

_The shadow assassin spares a moment to think of her own feelings; of the love that she harbors for the boy beside her that she has carried in her breast for months now. She thinks of the dreams she has had for their future: dreams of little boys with red hair and green eyes, of little girls with black hair and eyes the color of indigo. She sees the two of them together as old ones, wrinkles and bent by time. She thinks of her dream of looking into Himura's eyes one day and seeing his love for her looking back._

_Zetsumei Kurohyou dwells on the dreams that will never come to pass for only a moment before ruthlessly shoving them away._

_Not all dreams were meant to come true._

* * *

A/N: Please review, even if it is just to complain about the sort-of-kind-of smut scene.


	20. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori was my idea.

* * *

_"Hey. __**Hey."**_

_Her eyes fly open as her mouth snaps shut. Zetsumei Kurohyou looks around wildly for a moment before the arms that are caging her from behind finally register. She jerks against their hold to no avail; the grip merely tightens fractionally._

_"Calm down, little panther. You might as well stop fighting me, girl. I'm not letting you go."_

_Why the hell is she being held against Makoto Shishio's chest? What is going on?_

_Wait. By her foot is an empty sake jug, and she has a pounding headache. Her katana is not strapped to her back in its usual position; it is lying on the floor just out of her reach. The voices she's hearing are not in the room with her, they are in her head…_

_A nightmare. She had fallen asleep in the inn's dining area after drinking a full jug of sake on her own and had had a nightmare._

_"Are you calm yet, little panther?" Shishio breathes into her ear, setting the skin all over her body into flinching convulsions. He is pressing her so close to his body that Kurohyou can feel his heartbeat through her back. She cringes away from his touch as best she can with his arms still wrapped firmly around her waist._

_"Let me go," she tries to growl; it comes out in a raspy whisper, and she winces when she realizes that she had in fact been screaming in her sleep again. Godsdamned nightmares…_

_"What were you dreaming about?" Shishio ignores her request as he shifts her until she is sitting sideways in his lap, her head fitting perfectly into the crook of his neck. "People say it helps if you talk about that kind of shit. Tell me what it was, little panther?"_

_Kurohyou can feel tears welling up in her eyes as one of Shishio's hands strokes up and down her back. Tell him about it? He wants her to tell him about getting ambushed by at least twenty men on the fourth floor of that hotel? He wants her to tell him about waking up tied to a support beam, naked with leering men all around her? He wants her to tell him what the pain felt like that first time they used that damned nine-tailed whip to cut her back into mush?_

_"Yes," he says, and Kurohyou gives a start when she realizes she just said all of that out loud. "Tell me about it. I've heard whispers of what you did to them when you escaped, but nobody seems to give a shit about what they did to you. I want to know. Tell me."_

_Kurohyou feels panic at the thought of sharing that with him well in her stomach. She has never spoken to anyone about her torture, save Himura. She has never let anyone hold her after one of her nightmares, save Himura. She doesn't know if she can bring herself to tell the man whose lap she is currently sitting in about the two weeks she spent in Hell._

_Instead the assassin shakes her head and presses her hands flat against his chest, trying to push herself away from him._

_With a snarl Shishio is on his feet, dragging Kurohyou up with him. In a burst of angry energy he slams her up against the wall, pinning her there in the next instant with his body. Growling fiercely he grinds his hips into hers, letting her feel the hard length of his arousal pressing against her thigh through their hakama._

_"Can you feel that, little girl?" he hisses at her, his fingers digging into her upper arms. "Can you? Every time I'm around you I have to deal with this. Every time you invade my dreams I have to deal with this. Every fucking time you come in from an assignment covered in blood, I have to physically restrain myself from pinning you to the nearest wall and licking every last drop off of your beautiful skin."_

_Kurohyou struggles against his hold on her, her terror escalating when he sneers at her efforts; she wishes desperately for her katana._

_"Why do you refuse me?" Shishio growls, his nose inches from her own. "Why? What do I have to do to make you accept me? What's it going to take for me to get you to tell me your fucking name? What am I going to have to do before you come to me when you have a fucking nightmare instead of wishing for that fucking bastard Battousai?"_

_Shishio is not prepared when Zetsumei Kurohyou head butts him. He is not prepared for her to proceed to sink her teeth into the skin where his neck and shoulder connect, or for the weight of her foot driving into his knee. He lets out a shout of mingled surprise and pain as he jerks away from her. The pressure of her bite coupled with the momentum of his backwards retreat tears a chuck of his flesh free from the rest, leaving it gripped between the snarling teeth of a furious panther._

_Kurohyou's head butt maneuver has bloodied her own nose; Shishio's blood drips from her chin in two thin lines. At that moment, with her catlike green eyes flashing eerily in fury and blood adorning her snarling face, Shishio has never thought more that the object of his desire looks like a demon come straight from Hell._

_She spits the chunk of his flesh to the ground at his feet and storms past him to yank up her katana._

_"If you ever touch me like that again, I will make your death fast enough that you will not know what happened," she hissed as she stalks past him to the door._

_"And if you ever insult the Battousai in my hearing again, you will be begging me for death for a long time before death frees you from my wrath."_

* * *

Midori stood in the same room as the man who had slain her Myoushu, alone with him but for Himura, and had to forcefully restrain herself from lunging at him with her blade bared. Instead she settled on glaring at him with the most awful glare she could muster. Weaker men would have cowered before her.

"I would advise you to stop giving me those looks, woman. They're starting to piss me off."

Midori ground her teeth against the vitriolic remark fighting to get loose and turned the positively frightening glare from Saito to Himura. The former continued to look unconcerned; the latter looked as if he would very much like to make a run for it.

"You want me to work with this…bastard?" she growled, her hands balling into tight fists at her side.

"_Kabu_ –"

"It doesn't matter what he wants, woman," Saito interrupted, fishing around in his pockets. He withdrew a cigarette and a matchbook; Midori watched as he struck a match and lit the cigarette, disgust flaring in her gut. "Whether Himura wants you to work with me or not is irrelevant. You really don't have a choice in the matter. You'll either cooperate with me or I'll have your skinny ass thrown in jail."

If looks could kill, the look Midori bestowed upon Saito at that point would have left him writhing on the floor of his office dying a very slow, very painful death.

"I would love to see you try to put me in jail," she hissed. "Then we could be how frightening a wolf is when you cut off his –"

"_Kabu_!" Himura grabbed her wrist and pulled her across the office. Putting his body in between Midori and Saito, he put his hands on her shoulder and gave her a gentle shake. The small part of Midori's brain that wasn't occupied with thinking up creative ways to skin Saito alive was relieved that his hand was above the slightly bloody bandages on the left side of her chest.

"Please, _kabu_, we _have_ to work with Saito. We are going to need his help. You told me that Shishio has an entire army at his command. You must know that the two of us can't take on a whole army by ourselves?"

Midori glared over Himura's shoulder at the man she hated more than any other. "Why not? They are not _hitokiris_, Himura. They have only basic skill. Between the two of us, Sanosuke if he gets here soon, and the Oniwabanshu we shouldn't have any problems with the fools following Shishio until we get to his inner circle. Why must we accept _his_ help?"

"What if one of us was to die because we don't work with him, _kabu_? What then?"

Midori looked at Himura long enough to give him an overly sweet smile. "Personally, I would prefer death to working with Hajime Saito. I say we take our chances."

Saito took a long drag from his cigarette. "Let me talk to the woman alone for a moment, Himura. There's an _ahou_ in the hall that will want to speak to you. Get out."

Himura paled. He turned to look at Saito with wide eyes that clearly screamed '_bad_ _idea_, _bad_ _idea_!'

"I said get out."

Himura wordlessly left the office.

Saito stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray on his desk and fished in his pockets for another while Midori eyed him warily.

"After that little fight at the Kamiya Dojo in Tokyo, I did a little research on you," he informed her casually, as if remarking on the weather and not admitting to sticking his nose into her past. "Zetsumei Kurohyou: shadow assassin of the Chosu's Ishin Shishi. You were Himura's partner for over a year before he started fighting with the regular army, after which you were partnered with Makoto Shishio. No name on file, no family listed. So tell me, _youma: _where the hell have I seen you before?"

Midori sneered at him, noting that he again referred to her as a ghost.

"Could you not find that out with your research?" she taunted. "Did the Shinsingumi not keep record of all the people they killed?"

"The Shinsingumi's records were destroyed when it became apparent that we would not win the war, so as to keep some things from our enemies," Saito responded, puffing calmly on his new cigarette. "However, by your questions I can deduce that I killed someone in your family during the war. You became an assassin during the first year, so obviously we crossed paths early in the conflict."

He fell silent, regarding her with those cold yellow eyes much as he had done that day so long ago, as she knelt on the ground before him in a growing pool of her master's blood and hatred etched into every line of her features. Midori could tell the instant he remembered her: his eyes narrowed noticeable, and he straightened from where he had been leaning on his desk.

"You were that girl," Saito mused, ignoring the growing ash on the end of his cigarette in favor of staring at her. "You lived with that old man on a manor. You called me a murderer."

"You killed my master," Midori growled, hands fisting so deeply that her fingernails were in danger of breaking the skin of her palm. "You killed him for no reason!"

Saito shrugged nonchalantly, turning to the side to finally flick the large line of ash into the ashtray before taking another drag. "I only killed the people I was ordered to kill, woman. No different from what you did during the Bakumatsu. I have no intention of apologizing to you or anyone else. Raiden Wakahisa is dead. You are not. End of story."

Midori was suddenly very, very close to him.

"I would take a great deal of pleasure in killing you, Hajime Saito," she whispered, looking him straight in the eyes as she did so. "I am restraining myself now because Himura asks it of me. But if you ever speak my master's name again in my hearing, no force in Heaven or Hell will stop me from ending your life in the most painful way I am capable."

Wolf and panther glared at each other for a long moment.

"We have an agreement, then," Saito finally spoke, no hint of fear or anything aside from sarcasm in his voice. "You'll work with me to help take down Shishio and stop the Meiji government from collapsing. In exchange I'll keep you out of jail and I won't speak your precious master's name. Happy, _youma_?"

"Thrilled," Midori replied coolly. "I'll help the incompetent fools in the police do their jobs. I have nothing better to do at the moment anyway. Let me know when you are done talking and ready to get off your ass. Hopefully Shishio won't have conquered Japan before then."

And with that, Midori stormed out of the office. She ignored the sound of Himura's voice asking her what was wrong and stalked outside, intent on getting away from the damned wolf before she gave into temptation and attempted to gut him.

Several hours later, as the small amount of food she had eaten that day threatened to expel itself from her stomach, Midori couldn't help but think that this was going to be a disaster.

Midori crouched on the roof of the coach, terrified that the driver was going to throw her off, and had an internal panic attack. There was no way they were going to get there in time. Gods-damnit, why did Osaka have to be so far away?

Surely Shishio would have sailed away to Tokyo to put the first part of his plan into motion before they managed to get to the docks, since that wouldn't be until around midnight.

Midori had to admit, Shishio's plan was absolutely brilliant. While most of the members of his inner circle led his army in their quest to burn Kyoto to the ground, Shishio was going to sail to Tokyo and start a panic. Tokyo would tear itself apart with the resulting chaos unless this damned coach was able to get to the docks in Osaka before Shishio's ship sailed.

"We've gotta fly."

Midori turned her head to quirk a brow at her rooftop companion.

"We've gotta fly."

Sanosuke Sagara raised a hand and pointed straight in front of them, as though to point the coach in the correct direction.

"We've gotta fly!"

A sudden tearing sound rent the air, compelling Midori to roll to the side as the blade of a _katana_ tore through the roof of the coach inches from her hands. Rolling too far, she went right off the top of the coach and would have fallen to the dirt road if she had not managed to grab hold of the rail that lined the coach's roof.

Over the voice in her head that was lamenting her early death by coach trip, she could hear Sanosuke shouting.

"Saito you creep! What'd ya think you're doing?!"

"I'm trying to think in here. Can't you please keep it down?"

"I hate you, you know that?"

Midori cast a quick glance through the windows of the coach to see Sanosuke's upside-down head disappear from view and Saito's smirk get directed at her. Before she could say or do anything else, hands were pulling her back on top of the coach. She refused to let go of the rail and redoubled her grip as Sanosuke watched her worriedly.

"Hey, are you okay _aibou_?" She had told Sanosuke not to use her name around Saito (no way in _Hell_ was she telling that son-of-a-bitch her name) and he had been calling her pal all afternoon. Afraid that if she opened her mouth she would vomit, Midori merely shook her head and hunkered closer to the railing. It would be several hours before they arrived in Osaka, and Midori wasn't sure if she could last that long on this deathtrap.

At least she had Sanosuke for company. After Midori had barreled out of the police station back in Kyoto, he had come to find her. She had been surprised to learn that he had followed Himura after the latter left Tokyo, gotten lost on the way to Kyoto, and then gotten himself thrown in jail upon reaching town so that he would be sure to cross paths with a certain thrice-damned wolf. When Himura and Saito had collected them and told them what was going on, Midori had flatly refused to be confined in the coach with Saito and had instead opted to ride on top with Sanosuke. Now, as much as she hated Saito, she was starting to wish that she had just ridden in the stupid carriage.

"If you vomit on the roof of this carriage, _youma_, I'm making you clean up the mess."

Never mind. She'd take her chances.

* * *

Midori vaulted off the top of the carriage as soon as the driver had brought it to a stop. She was never going near one of those stupid things again once this was all over.

"_Kabu_, look. It has to be that one there." Himura was suddenly at her side, pointing to one of the ships in front of them. "That's the only one that looks like it's ready to set sail."

He was right, but that wasn't going to help them. The ship he was referring to was anchored offshore and the four of them had no way to get to it. She said as much to Himura.

"You're right. We'll have to swim to it. If we can get on board, we should have no trouble –"

"Hey wait a minute, Kenshin," Sanosuke interrupted, as he and Saito came to stand next to them. He fished around in his pockets for a moment before withdrawing several small objects and holding them out for Himura to see. After a second, Midori realized what the things were and felt her shoulders tense in surprise. What was Sanosuke doing carrying bombs?

"Katsu gave these to me when I left Tokyo," Sanosuke explained smugly, although of course to Midori that was no explanation at all. She had no clue who this 'Katsu' was. "They're a new type of bomb that don't need to be lit to explode, and they're really powerful."

Midori could see the major problem with that idea even before Saito loudly muttered the word, "_Baka_."

Under any other circumstances, the long-suffering look of frustration that popped into existence on Sanosuke's face would have made Midori laugh.

"Why do you always have to shoot down whatever I say?" he demanded. "What makes you think I'm a moron now?"

"Everything," was Saito's deadpan reply. Himura quickly intervened before Sanosuke could explode at the infuriating wolf.

"Sano, even if it doesn't need to be lit to explode, once you dive under water the gunpowder will get wet. It doesn't matter how powerful the bombs are, they'll never go off."

While Sanosuke's expression was still going from angry to mortified, Saito just had to put his two cents in.

"My thoughts precisely," he announced, looking bored by the entire conversation. "The best thing for you to do is to stay here until the police squad from Osaka comes. They should be able to keep you out of the way."

Midori was forced to wrap her arms around Sanosuke and dig her heels in as he made towards Saito with murder in his eyes. Himura quickly latched onto the hand that was currently waving around three very powerful bombs that could apparently explode at any moment. Before anything drastic could occur, however, there was a blinding flash of light from the direction of Shishio's rickety-looking wooden ship; this flash of light was followed by an ear-splitting explosion that set bells ringing in Midori's head from its intensity. Once the flash had dimmed, Midori turned to gape at the ship, which was now in flames.

"What going on now?" Sano yelled over the noise of wood hitting the water at pieces of the ship rained from the sky. "Did they blow up their own ship?"

"Perhaps a cannon misfired," Saito called, also speaking loudly enough to be heard.

"No," Himura was quick to counter, staring at the cloud of smoke that obscured the seemingly wrecked ship.

A sharp wind chose that exact moment to begin blowing through the harbor, as though the very gods wanted them to see what was behind that cloud of smoke. When it cleared, Midori found that all she could do was stare in astonishment. They were in _such_ deep shit.

The wooden ship had obviously been a cover. What she was staring at now…was an ironclad battleship. Cannons lined the deck and the sublevel. Men scurried to and fro hauling cannonballs while others began working to slowly raise the massive anchor. As her eyes scanned the ship, a flash of white drew her gaze to the rail at the stern. Green met red, and even from a distance, Midori could see the smirk that graced Shishio's burnt lips.

"This is the black ship of the Meiji Era that will drive the good people of Tokyo into the bowls of Hell," Shishio called to them. "This is the Purgatory's true identity."

His grin grew wider, and he began to laugh that maniacal laugh that caused goose bumps to erupt on Midori's flesh.

"A plated steel battleship?" Unlike usual, Saito sounded more surprised than sarcastic. "If a single individual can buy something like that, the Meiji Government won't be around much longer."

Midori hated to agree to anything that came out of Saito's mouth, but she had to admit that the wolf was right.

"So what's the plan, Kenshin?" Sanosuke asked, rubbing his hands together in excitement. "How're we gonna get that floating hunk of steel?"

"Tell me, Battousai," put it Saito from their other side, "are you able to cut through solid steel with your _katana_?"

"Yes. I can, but it'll be difficult to get to that ship."

"Alright then," Saito commanded. "Let's do it. You go in from the starboard side. I'll go in from the port side."

After a very short pause, Sanosuke looked over at Saito and asked, "What about me?"

Saito looked at him very briefly out of the corner of his eye. "You stay here like a good little boy and take a nap."

As Himura again intervened and told Sanosuke what he could do to help, Midori continued to scan the deck of the ship. So far, she had only seen Soujiro near Shishio; Hoji was roaming around giving last minute orders; and she assumed the Shishio's woman Yumi would be on board somewhere. The rest of Shishio's inner circle must have remained in Kyoto with the greater part of Shishio's army to start the fires. The police would have to take care of them, helped along by the Oniwabanshu.

A low boom drew her attention, and Midori's stomach plummeted when she saw the cannonball that just happened to be coming straight for them.

She dove into the water even as the others went their separate ways. Years before, her Myoushu had taught her how to swim and conditioned her to be able to hold her breath under water for long periods of time. She used his teachings now to remain hidden, swimming swiftly towards the hull of the ship. As she emerged, she heard yells of surprise; looking up, she could see Himura perched on the ship's railing. From the cries, she guessed that Saito was also already onboard.

Distantly, she could hear Shishio speaking as she scaled the hull and stole quietly towards him on the ship's observation deck.

"I'd like to welcome you aboard and congratulate you for making it. But…you haven't really accomplished anything."

Quietly as possible Midori leapt onto the radio shack, crawling forward until she could see the three men plus Soujiro. One hand went up to grasp the hilt of her _katana_ in readiness.

"You anticipated my moves because you know how my mind works, but the reverse is also true in this case. I think that'll be obvious momentarily when you realize how foolish you really are."

Midori's eyes were drawn to the deck; they widened at the site of two men wheeling out a Gatling gun. She had never seen one herself, but she didn't like the chances of them being able to dodge a barrage of bullets forever. To her horror, the men pointed the gun's barrel out to the water – _directly at Sanosuke, _who was hopping from wood scrap to wood scrap towards the ship.

"Sano!" Himura cried, sounding panic stricken.

"Fire!" Shishio commanded, and one of the men immediately began turning the crank. Bullets spewed forth, headed straight for Midori's rooster-headed friend. Midori yanked her blade free and leapt at them, passing right in between a stunned Shishio and Soujiro.

Even as her blade cut the man's hand off, leaving it to fall limply from the crank to the deck and causing the man to scream in agony while she dealt a shoulder wound to the other man, Midori was astonished to see Sanosuke punch down on a board in the water and cause a wall of liquid to spring up before him. The bullets were stopped by the sheer density of the wall, which fell away to reveal a grinning Sanosuke standing on a floating piece of the fake ship.

"Nice try, you assholes!" he shouted, lobbing the three bombs at the ship as he spoke.

Time seemed to slow as the bombs drew closer and closer to the wall that connected the observation deck to the main deck – directly behind Midori and the perfect spot to cripple the ship.

"Oh, shit!" she heard Sanosuke shout, right before the bombs hit the wall and her entire world exploded.

Midori wasn't quite sure what it was that struck her, but she thought it might have been a steel plate thrown loose by the explosion caused by the bombs. She flew through the air, actually sailing right by Sano on his chunk of wood before hitting the surface of the water and sinking like a stone.

_Holy gods_ her ribs hurt. Trying to get reoriented without blacking out from the agonizing pain tearing through her lower abdomen, Midori managed to push herself upwards to break the surface of the water once again. She took a deep breath as she grabbed the nearest floating chunk of anything, clinging to it as she tried to breathe.

"_Kabu_!"

Midori could barely muster the strength to flap one hand in the general direction of the ship as each and every breath stabbed more pain into her abdomen. She heard a splash somewhere in front of her; soon an arm was wrapping low around her waist as she hitched a ride back to the shore, Sanosuke's panicked voice babbling in her ear the entire time.

"...I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry...oh shit oh shit oh shit...Kenshin's gonna kill me...I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..."

Midori really wanted to tell him to stop yelling so close to her ear, but still couldn't muster the strength. As he hauled her onto dry ground and then proceeded to panic at the site of her abdomen, Midori groaned and curled into a loose ball on her side, coughing blood _yet again_. She was getting really sick of the taste of her own blood.

There was something probing her abdomen quite painfully. Looking down, Midori slowly raised an eyebrow at the sight. Apparently she had been right to guess that she had been struck by a steel plate, because there was a small steel plate currently poking out from just below the ribs on her right side. The polished surface glittered brightly next to the black of her _gi_ and _hakama_.

She raised her eyes to meet the astonished, apologetic, and somewhat sickened gaze of Sanosuke; her friend looked like he had no idea what to do now.

"Pull it out, please."

"What?! Are you out of your mind??? I'm not a doctor, I ain't pullin' that out! No way!"

Midori spared a sigh for the cowardliness of men before taking a firm grip on the hunk of steel. Breathing in deeply and telling herself it was best just to get this over with, Midori grit her teeth and gave a sharp yank. The metal slid from her body just as she had wanted it to.

She wasn't expecting the pain of that happening to knock her into unconsciousness.

* * *

When Midori next awoke, she had to squint her eyes from the brightness of the sun. Obviously she had been out for hours, as it had been very late at night when she passed out and it now appeared to be around noon. Stiff bandages were wrapped around her abdomen over the bindings she always wore. She was being carried on the back of a certain rooster-headed man with horrid aim that she was planning on having a word with on the proper etiquette for using dangerous explosives.

Turning her head to the side against Sanosuke's shoulder blade, Midori was pleased to meet the worried gaze of Himura. She grinned weakly at him, and some of the stress lines around his eyes smoothed out.

"_Kabu_," he murmured, a soft smile lighting up his features. At the sound of his friend's pet name for Midori, Sanosuke turned his head so that he could see her out of one eye.

"Hey, it's about time you woke up," he said, his own voice relieved. "You wanna try walking or do you just want me to keep carrying you? Kenshin said we're almost to the Aoi-Ya, and then we can get food!"

"I'll walk," she mumbled, wincing at how raspy her voice sounded. She would have killed for some water right about then. She stumbled a little when Sanosuke carefully set her on her feet, prompting Himura to gently take her elbow to help balance her.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, concern marring his face. Midori grimaced at him before leveling a glare at Sanosuke, causing him to turn white.

"I feel as though I was impaled by a steel plate after three powerful bombs blew up right behind me because Sanosuke Sagara has shitty aim," she rattled off, taking wooden steps forward as every muscle in her body screamed in protest to the movement. "Aside from that, yes Himura, I feel peachy."

"Yeah…about that. Listen, Midori, I'm really sorry –"

Midori's head jerked around at the sound of her name, scanning the area for certain hated police officers. When her search came up negative she looked curiously at Himura.

"Where is Saito?"

"Saito had some loose ends to tie up at the police station, regarding what happened here last night while we were gone," Himura explained. "He said that he would contact us later today."

"And Shishio?"

"Shishio is waiting for us at his base at Mount Hiei. He has said that we may fight duels with the members of the Juppongatana to earn the right to fight with him. We will wait until Saito gets in touch with us before deciding when to go."

Midori was slightly lost. "What is the Juppongatana?"

"It's the name Shishio gives the group of his ten strongest fighters," Sanosuke cut it. "Cho told me and Saito about it at the jail. With Cho out of the way thanks to you, that leaves nine guys between us and Shishio. I think we can take them all, no problem!"

Midori was not so confident. She was certain that the eight men that had been in that room with Shishio when Kaoru and Yahiko had been unconscious were members of this Juppongatana. Eight…and Cho already out of the fight…then who was the tenth fighter?

Before she had time to dwell on this question, the sound of a young voice shouting their names drew her gaze to the building at the end of the street. There was the Aoi-Ya; and standing in front of it with a bokken resting over his shoulder stood Yahiko, waving enthusiastically.

"Hey! It's about time you three got here, everybody's been really worried, especially Kaoru!"

Turning to face the inn, Yahiko bellowed, "Oi, Kaoru, they're back! Get out here you ugly hag!"

The front _shoji_ door was eased open after a moment, and then Kaoru was stumbling out, her blue eyes fixed on Himura's face. Midori watched out of the corner of her eye as Himura smiled gently at the girl.

"I'm sorry if I worried you, Kaoru-dono," he said in that suddenly infuriatingly gentle voice that he always used with the Kamiya. Midori noticed that he still wasn't referring to himself as 'this one', and wondered somewhat bitterly why he was now so comfortable with the girl in front of them. However, she quickly killed that line of thinking; she absolutely refused to be jealous of Kaoru Kamiya for anything.

All of them were completely shocked beyond reckoning when Kaoru proceeded to reach forward, drag Midori from Himura's side, and wrap her arms around the assassin in a bone-crushing hug.

"Oh, Midori-san! Thank you so much for bringing both of my boys back to me!"

If she said anymore or did anything else, Midori never knew. The pressure of the impromptu hug against the wound in Midori's abdomen was too great, and she passed out for the second time that day.

* * *

_**A/n: Please review. There are only a few chapters to go, but I would still like to know what those of you reading this think of it.**_


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori was my idea.

* * *

_She is hurt._

_His panther is hurt because of that fucking idiot Sagara._

_Makoto Shishio snarls to himself as he paces. He has sent everyone away, even Yumi. The woman had been hanging all over him as she always seems to do, and while it didn't normally bother him, when he thinks of anyone other than his wounded panther touching him he wants to kill something. No one should ever touch him again except his panther, and she isn't here._

_He wants her back. He wants her in his lap right now. He wants her skin against his lips and her blood thrumming against his fingertips. He wants Anji to take care of the wound in her abdomen that she sustained last night because of that – fucking – idiot – Sanosuke Sagara. Shishio growls savagely at the memory of that spiky-haired bastard wrapping an arm around Shishio's panther. He will die for that if for no other reason than he dared to touch something that didn't belong to him._

_And his panther…_

_He had been shocked when she had practically flown between him and Soujiro to save Sagara's life. She had actually protected the idiot. Why? Does she actually give a shit about the stupid punk?_

_**NO**. That's not true. His panther is not allowed to care about anyone but __**him**__, damn it. _

_That isn't really important anyway. What is important is that his panther is wounded and he wants her here so that he can fix her._

_Shishio sighs, his rage spent, and flops down onto the couch to recline and think. His thoughts go immediately back to his panther, as they always seem to do these days. He thinks about the way her mouth felt pressed against his, the way she had tasted against his exploring tongue. He thinks about the little noises she made in the back of her throat as he kissed her. He thinks about the way her small delicate hand had felt pressed over his heart._

_He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the couch as his thoughts take him back to the Bakumatsu, back to that first day when he met his panther. He had followed her as she went on assignment, captivated by her beauty and already making plans to lure the pretty little kitty into his bed. Captivation had become full blown arousal as he had watched her kill her target. She had __**played**__ with the man, just like a panther might play with her food before eating it. Shishio had wondered if she would lick the blood from her blade before the rain could wash it away, and had been slightly disappointed when she didn't. Surely she was the type to relish the sweet taste of blood?_

_He doesn't even bother to suppress the moan that escapes when he remembers how it felt the first time he touched her; how her body had fit so perfectly against his own when he had tossed her up against the wall she had just recently pinned a body to. He lets his body remember the almost painful jolts of pleasure and desire that such a touch had awoken in him. The press of her katana over his jugular had done nothing to deter his newly-budding passion._

_Shishio's lips form a hellish snarl when he remembers that night that he came in from his latest kill and had overheard a bunch of idiots talking about her. He had stood outside the door of the room they were drinking in and listened as they talked about his panther being abducted by another faction of the Ishin Shishi during her first year with them. He had listened as they brushed over a few types of torture she was reportedly subjected to, like rape and some sort of whip with many heads attached to it. He had listened as they proceeded to go into great detail about exactly what his panther did to her captors when she was finally able to free herself. His desire for her had grown in leaps and bounds for every detail spoken of her vengeance._

_When he had grown tired of their talking, Shishio had then slid aside the door he had been listening through and taken great pleasure in butchering all six or seven of the fools who dared to suggest that his panther deserved to be tortured like that in the first place. Hell, even __**he**__ would never do something like that to an ally; if he wanted them dead, he would kill them, but he wouldn't torture a woman like that. That was fucked up even by Shishio's standards. The thought that his panther had gone through something like that and not died or gone insane had impressed him to no end._

_If Shishio's memory serves him right, it had been nearly a full year later when he had found his panther thrashing around in the dining area one night, breath smelling of sake and screaming for all she was worth. His body has no trouble remembering what it felt like to pin her squirming, screeching form in his lap. He twitches at the remembered feeling of then being able to cradle her warm body against his as he tried to coax her to talk to him about her nightmares, and the anger he had felt when she had refused. He still has the scar on his shoulder where she bit the shit out of him. He still isn't sure why it didn't get burned away with his skin when he was set on fire. Maybe it's fate; maybe it was the gods' idea of a joke; it doesn't really matter. It actually gives him a perverse sort of pleasure to know that he will always bear her mark._

_Which reminds him: one of these days he'll have to mark her in return. Fair's fair, after all._

_Absently, he wonders if she ever realized that he would sleep outside her room nearly every night after that; just so he could hear her screams and tell himself that she was sharing them with him._

_His fingers clench deeply into the couch's cushions as he remembers when that fucker from the higher-ups had come to him and given him an order to kill his panther. Shishio had come so fucking close to killing that pompous windbag right there in the hallways of their headquarters. Instead he had sneered at the man and told him to go to Hell. Zetsumei Kurohyou is too much fun, he had jeered. Why the hell would he have wanted to kill someone so fun?_

_Shishio jerks up to a sitting position from where he had been reclining on the couch, his eyes flying open, and snarls as he recalls with perfect clarity the blood-boiling rage that had nearly driven him completely insane when he found her on that damned battlefield two days later with a hole driven right through her body, just inches to the left of her heart. He remembers having heard that the Battousai himself had been forced to kill his old partner, having first been fed some bullshit story about how she sold herself and a bunch of information to the Shogunates for one reason or another. He had wanted to find that red-haired little fairy-boy and tear his head off barehanded for being stupid enough to believe that load of shit. Really, how fucking gullible could a person be?_

_His growls shake the whole couch as he relives those five days when his panther was out of her mind with fever. Every scream had infuriated him to no end, and he had been forced to physically restrain himself when she had cried out for the Battousai in her delirium. She had actually cried out for the fucker who had put his damned blade nearly through her heart._

_And not once – not one fucking time – had his panther called out for him._

_Shishio lies back down on the couch and closes his eyes again for the next memory. A positively evil smirk pulls at his lips as he remembers with absolutely clarity how it had felt to finally – __**finally**__ – have his beautiful panther nude and writhing underneath him in that filthy hut. He remembers marveling at the taste of exotic oranges all over her body – from her neck to her breasts to her flat little stomach to her thighs. He can easily name from memory every spot on that gorgeous body that will produce a moan or a sigh from her sweet mouth._

_Yumi might be great for relieving tension; but no woman will ever have the effect on him that his little panther had. He trembles just remembering the ecstasy._

_As for the memory of how it had felt to bury himself inside of his panther after wanting her for so fucking long…well. Shishio decides to leave that for another time, preferably when his panther is here to deal with the physical repercussions such a memory is sure to cause for him._

_He didn't see her again after that one night of bliss for over a year, but when he opened his eyes that first time after his body had been set on fire only to find her giving his naked body a sponge bath, he thought the gods had pulled some kind of enormous cosmic screw-up and sent her soul to Hell with his. Either that or they had lost their fucking minds and sent him to Heaven._

_Something in him had roared with pleasure when she told him that she had been caring for his ruined body for six months. Six entire months. Half a year of taking care of him all alone. She didn't leave him to die or kill him out of annoyance or somehow deliver him to those fuckers who tried to kill him in the first place. No, she hadn't done any of that. Instead she had chosen of her own free will to nurse him back to health._

_That was when Shishio had decided that he loved Zetsumei Kurohyou. He didn't give a shit that he didn't even know her name or anything about her. He was in love with her._

_And then when he was well enough to get by on his own again, the only woman in the entire world that he would ever love had told him to leave. She had packed up her own belongings and set the house she had been living in on fire before walking away from him without so much as a backwards glance._

_Shishio is sure now that she would have stayed with him if she could have; but because the government was doubtlessly going to start hunting him again when they figured out that he wasn't dead, it would have been too dangerous for his panther to remain with him. That had been the only explanation that he had been able to think of at the time, as well, and the only reason he hadn't tried to follow her._

_He is going to make her a queen. He is going to give her anything and everything she could ever possibly want. She is going to spend the rest of her life by his side, where she belongs, and every night from here to eternity in his bed. She will never sleep alone on some dirty patch of ground again._

_Shishio is going to make his precious Midori a goddess in his new Japan, and he is going to make her love him if it's the last thing he ever does._

_She will love __**him**__, Makoto Shishio, and no one else._

* * *

"Kaoru-dono, may I speak with you please?" Midori whispered, reaching out to lightly grasp Kaoru's sleeve as the girl passed Midori's shadowy hiding spot. The girl gave a start, not having been aware of Midori's presence until the assassin had spoken.

"Midori-san?" Kaoru whispered back. It was very late, after midnight; the rest of the inn's inhabitants were probably asleep. Midori had woken this afternoon after her second trip into the land of dreams, but had been unsuccessful in her attempts to sleep again so far. She had decided to give it up for a lost cause and had moved to a shadowy patch of the veranda around the inn's garden, out of the light of the stars and out of sight. When she had spied Kaoru slipping quietly out of her room and heading in her general direction, she had decided that now would be a good time to have a very important conversation with the young kenjutsu teacher.

"Please, it is important that you hear this," Midori whispered, gently tugging the girl into the shadows with her. She would rather Kaoru not be able to see her face as she spoke – hopefully she could refrain from crying in front of the girl, but she wasn't going to be taking any chances.

"What is it, Midori-san? Is it your abdomen? Do you need me to help you apply more bandages?" The girl sounded genuinely worried for Midori's health. Midori was still getting used to that, considering the treatment she had become accustomed to during her stay at the Kamiya dojo.

"No, Kaoru-dono. I do not require your assistance. I require that you listen to me, and not interrupt, and after I am finished talking I will require your word that you will never reveal to Himura or anyone else what I ask of you. Do you understand what I am saying?"

"Of course, Midori-san," Kaoru immediately replied, honesty ringing true in her young voice.

Alright, she _had_ to ask.

"Kaoru-dono, why are you being so friendly to me?" she blurted out without preamble. That question had been eating at her all damn day; if she was going to die tomorrow, she decided she wanted to die with no secrets kept from her.

"I…Midori-san, I need to apologize," Kaoru mumbled, sounding very embarrassed. "I treated you horribly when you were a guest at my dojo. I was an awful hostess, and I can't imagine what you must think of me.

"It's just that – well – I was jealous of you, Midori-san. Kenshin acts so differently around you; it's like you bring out a completely different person in him that none of the rest of us can even touch. I mean, I've been trying for months to get him to stop adding dono onto the end of my name with no luck, and all you had to do was tell him not to call you that _once_.

"And, also…I really care a lot about Kenshin, Midori-san. I care about him more than I can put into words without making a fool of myself. And it seems like Kenshin does everything in Heaven and on Earth to keep me at arm's length. When you came along…and he always seemed to be so close to you, and he talked so easily to you…it was just hard for me to accept that, Midori-san. It was really hard. So I just…took out my frustration on you.

"But I realized – that night, when you threw yourself in front of Kenshin and let Saito stab you – that you would actually _die_ for him. When you were unconscious, and developed that fever, the only times you didn't thrash around or scream from your nightmares were the times when Kenshin was touching some part of you; even if he just held your hand, you slept as peacefully as a small child. When he tried to move away from you, you would call him _ninjin_ and cry out for him until he touched you again. And Kenshin…he was so worried about you, Midori-san. I don't think he left that room but once or twice the whole time you were unconscious.

"I realized, during those two weeks when everyone was so afraid that you might die, that you weren't a horrible woman like I had convinced myself you were. I realized that _I_ was the one that was horrible, treating you like a servant and saying those awful things about your master because I was so jealous of you. I…I would understand if you couldn't bring yourself to forgive me, Midori-san, but I still want to apologize for my terrible behavior. I promise not to act in such a dreadful fashion towards you again in the future."

Midori said nothing for a moment after Kaoru stopped speaking, using the time to mentally process everything the younger girl has just told her. She felt like a complete idiot for not having figured it out for herself. Of course Kaoru was jealous; of course she had felt slighted by the closeness Midori shared with Himura. It only made sense for Kaoru to lash out against the person causing that jealousy – obviously she wouldn't lash out at Himura. Her annoying and rude behavior towards Midori had simply been the natural reaction of a girl trying to deal with the object of her affections moving further and further away from her.

It seemed jealousy really did make people do stupid things, like Kaoru treating her like shit or Himura accusing her of being a spy for Shishio. Kaoru, of course, had the added defense that she was a teenage girl with a crush. Himura didn't have any excuse except for stupidity.

This was actually just perfect for what she wanted to force the Kamiya to agree to do for her. The girl probably wouldn't like it, but if she really did care about Himura as much as she was saying she did, Midori was confident that she would agree in the end.

"Kaoru-dono, tomorrow I will go with Himura, Sanosuke, and Saito to face Shishio and his men at Mount Hiei."

She heard a noise come from Kaoru, and quickly spoke over what the girl was about to say.

"Yes, I know what Himura said," she confirmed, scowling to herself. She had woken up this afternoon to voices out here on the veranda and come to join the others. She had been surprised to see Okina-san leaning on a walking stick, covered in bandages. He had been standing out in the garden opposite Himura, who had been facing away from Midori. Everyone else had been clustered around a small girl in ninja garb that Midori hadn't recognized, who appeared to be crying silently as the two men talked.

"I promise that I will bring Aoshi back here, where he belongs," Himura had said. "In return, Okina-san, I would like to ask that you protect Midori tomorrow while Sano and I are gone. Due to her wound, I think it would be best if Midori stayed here. I don't want anything to happen to her."

"Yes, of course Himura-san," Okina-san had replied. "We will protect Midori-san with our lives."

"Like Hell you will!!" Midori had snarled, scaring the shit out of all assembled. Kaoru and both of the older women that lived at the Aoi-Ya had screamed; Sanosuke had toppled from the veranda to the ground in shock; the unfamiliar girl had leapt up and brandished a set of kunai she seemed to have pulled from thin air while Yahiko brandished his _bokken_; Okina-san had given a leap of surprise that had nearly put the old man in the garden's little pond; and Himura had whipped around to face her, wearing the kind of expression a child would wear after being caught with his hand in the cookie jar by a particularly strict parent after multiple warnings.

Midori had not been affected or amused by the look.

"How dare you think you can dictate what I will or will not do?" she had raged at him. "I am not a child, Himura! I do not need your permission to go to Mount Hiei and I will be going whether you like it or not! Gods, you are such a _baka_!"

And she had stormed off without another word, fuming at the indignity of it all. Imagine, Himura trying to set up a fucking _koromi_ for her so he could leave her behind! _Baka_!

Midori reigned in her anger now and focused on her conversation with Kaoru. She would kick Himura's ass later, if she survived all the fights tomorrow. Right now, she needed to insure that someone would be there for him if she _did not_ survive.

She needed to insure that _Kaoru_ would be there for him.

"Kaoru-dono, I also care greatly for Himura. I…love him; I have loved him for a very long time. But, there is a very good chance that I will not return from Mount Hiei tomorrow."

"Oh, no, Midori-san, please don't say that –"

"Be silent," Midori cut in firmly. "I have not finished speaking."

She waited a moment to make sure that Kaoru would say nothing further before continuing.

"Kaoru-dono, if Himura's life is put in danger tomorrow, there no force in the universe that will keep me from sacrificing my life so that he may live. I am aware that such an action would cause Himura pain. I know that it might even break his heart. But as long as there is breath in my body, Kaoru-dono, the gods themselves will not be able to kill Kenshin Himura without going through me first.

"If I die tomorrow, then I want your word that you will be here for Himura. You tell me that you care deeply for him. I want you to prove that those were not just empty words. If Himura returns here tomorrow shattered because of my death, I want your word that you will spend as long as necessary picking up the pieces and putting him back together. You are to take him back to Tokyo and take care of him for as long as you are able. Do you understand what I am telling you?"

There was no reply. Midori reached a hand out into the darkness and caught one of Kaoru's hands, giving it a firm squeeze.

"I require an answer from you, Kaoru Kamiya. Do you understand what I have just asked of you?" she repeated, not letting go of Kaoru's hand.

"Y…yes, Midori-san," was the faint reply.

"Do you swear to me that you will take care of Himura for as long as you can if something happens to me tomorrow?"

"I do." Kaoru's voice was shaking horribly, as was the hand that Midori still held.

"And you will not ever mention this conversation to anyone?"

"I won't." A drop of liquid plopped on the hand holding Kaoru's, and Midori gently drew the quivering girl forward and wrapped her in a light hug. Kaoru's shoulders trembled as she cried quietly onto Midori's shoulder, her hands fisted gently into the material of Midori's _gi_.

When Kaoru's tears were spent, Midori dropped her arms from around the girl and stepped away.

"_Arigato_, Kaoru-dono. I forgive you for the way you treated me and the things you said about my Myoushu. Now go to bed."

Without another word and without waiting for Kaoru to pull herself together enough to say anything, Midori turned on her heel and walked away.

* * *

Sanosuke had told her when she regained consciousness that Saito had sent an officer around to inform them that he thought it best if they made for Mount Hiei in the morning. So it was that Midori found herself standing in front of the Aoi-Ya early the next morning watching Saito make his way down the street towards them, the familiar hatred for the police officer muted by the knowledge that today may very well be the last she spent on this earth.

She stood flanked by Himura on one side and Sanosuke on the other, with Kaoru and Yahiko behind the three with all of the members of the Oniwabanshu. Everyone had come out to wish them well.

Saito came to a stop some ways away from them, as though not wanting to associate himself with the group anymore that was absolutely necessary.

"I trust you are done preparing," he drawled, yellow eyes moving from Himura's face to Midori's. "And recovering."

Midori's only answer was a glare. Saito smirked faintly before turning away from them.

"Let's go."

As one, Himura, Midori, and Sanosuke stepped forward and began following the wolf back down the street. They had only gone a few steps when a voice from behind them had called out, "Kenshin! Midori-san!"

The three companions stopped to look back. Kaoru had stepped forward, a tentative smile on her young face and hope in her eyes.

"When we go back to Tokyo," she called to them, "let's all go back home together."

Midori suppressed a flinch at the word 'home'. Kaoru considered her dojo Midori's home?

It was official, then. The world really was coming to an end.

Beside her, Himura was currently returned Kaoru's gentle smile.

"Alright, Kaoru-dono; we will," he agreed without hesitation.

Midori said nothing. She caught Kaoru's eye and gave the girl a meaningful look; she waited until the girl nodded before turning away with Himura and Sanosuke to continue following Saito. She was not going to make any promises. What she had told Kaoru the night before was the truth: if necessary, Midori would die to insure that Himura lived. He might be hurt, he might be broken hearted, but as long as he was _alive_ Midori would die satisfied.

Midori would never make a promise that she might not be able to keep.

The trip up the mountain was done in near silence. Midori spent the majority of the journey trying to hide how much pain she was in from Himura and Sanosuke; she seriously doubted that Saito would give a shit if he noticed. That steel plate that had impaled her appeared to have broken the lowest of her ribs on the right side; this made climbing a fucking mountain even harder that it would normally be. Midori had no doubt that if Himura or Sanosuke noticed that it was bothering her, they would try to force her to go back to the Aoi-Ya, and she didn't want to argue with them. She would win the argument, of course, but if she could avoid having one altogether she would.

She was also determined not to let either of her friends know that the scar she carried from Himura's blade was still bleeding small amounts every few hours. Himura would doubtlessly have a complete freak out session, and Midori _really_ didn't want to have to deal with that.

"Get over here, _youma. _I want to talk to you."

Midori bite her tongue to keep from saying that she could care less what Saito wanted and sped up enough to walk at his side through the forest.

"What?" she snapped, wincing as a misstep jarred her broken rib. Both it and the stitched-up hole in her abdomen were tightly wrapped by the bandages she always wore to cover her torso, but damn if the stupid thing didn't still hurt.

Saito regarded her out of the corner of his narrow yellow eye. "Would you like to explain to me why you smell like blood?"

Midori's stomach sank; she glanced over her shoulder to make sure Himura and Sanosuke weren't close enough to hear their conversation.

"Why do people usually smell like blood, wolf?" she muttered, turning her eyes back to Saito. "Obviously it's because I am bleeding. I thought you were rumored to be intelligent."

"Watch your tongue, _youma_," Saito replied in a level tone, digging around in his pockets for his cigarettes and his matches. "Were you too stupid to get that wound on your abdomen treated yesterday?"

"Of course I had it treated!" Midori snapped at him, giving heavy consideration to snatching that lit cigarette out of his mouth and poking the burning end into his eye. "That's not even where I am bleeding. It isn't your concern, Saito, so why don't you keep that overly sensitive nose out of my business, alright?"

"Oh, I see. It must just be that time of the month for you, _youma_. Am I correct?"

Midori saw red.

When her vision cleared, both Himura and Sanosuke had fistfuls of her _gi_ and were dragging her away from the smirking figure of Saito while she shouted at them to let her go. She was going to kill that son-of-a-bitch. She was going to kill him if it was the last thing she did!!

"I suppose that means I was right," Saito called after them as Himura and Sanosuke struggled to drag her up the trail they had been following. "Women are always so touchy about that particular issue."

"_Baka_ _yaro_!" Midori howled back at him in a fury, fighting to get loose so that she could beat the living daylights out of the insufferable man. "I'm bleeding in my chest area, you _ketsunoana_! How dare you ask me that?!"

Saito shot her an evil grin right before she realized she had just yelled out that she was bleeding. Predictably, both Sanosuke and Himura began bombarding her with questions, probing her delicately, and discussing between themselves whether they should turn around long enough to drop Midori off at the police station or the Aoi-Ya. Midori quickly put an end to such speculation.

"Need I remind you both that it isn't up to you whether I go somewhere or not?" she barked, tearing herself free at last from their grip and stomping up the path. "I'm going with you. It's not like I'm going to bleed to death, and the injury doesn't concern any of you. So stop discussing my future like a couple of _kamis_ and come on."

She clenched her hands into fists and continued to stomp up the path, a cowed-looking Himura and Sanosuke on either side of her again. Saito trailed lazily behind them, no doubt smirking for all he had accomplished in so short a time this morning.

Midori was going to take a very, very great amount of pleasure from killing that bastard wolf one of these days.

Her foul mood soured further upon finally reaching the doorway to Shishio's domain only to be greeted by a certain promiscuous female. Yumi Komagata was leaning primly against the closed doors, a secretive smile on her green-tinted lips.

"Welcome gentlemen," she murmured coyly as they drew within easy hearing range. "We've been waiting for you."

She completely ignored Midori, which did absolutely nothing to improve Midori's temper.

"It would take you a lifetime to travel through the maze within this fortress. My name is Yumi Komagata and I will be acting as your humble guide."

Apparently the fact that Midori had already made her way through the labyrinthine compound from the outside in and then back was going to be disregarded. Which meant she was stuck with this annoying woman's company. This day just continued to get better and better for Midori.

From beside her, Sanosuke muttered to the other men, "Using women. It's a common trap, so be careful."

In spite of her black mood, Midori felt a smile kick up the corners of her mouth. Clearly Sanosuke knew nothing about Shishio, the silly man.

"You're about the only one here who's gullible enough to fall for a trick like that," Saito informed him rudely, casually walking forwards and ignoring Sanosuke's indignant 'hey!'

"Shishio would never set such an obvious trap," Himura added as he also walked forward, further adding to Sanosuke's annoyance. Midori smiled again and followed Himura.

They may have been descending into the bowels of Hell to fight the devil himself, but at least she still had Sanosuke to make her smile.

She had the feeling that she wouldn't be doing that much very soon.

* * *

**A/N: Please review**.


	22. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori was my idea.

* * *

_"I've heard that it's a stupid idea to get drunk alone."_

_Zetsumei Kurohyou lifts tired eyes to the shadowy figure in front of her. The only light in the empty dining room comes from the solitary candle on her right, so the figure's face is currently impossible to see. However, after working near the man for almost two years, it is impossible to think that the assassin would not recognize that arrogant voice. Gods know the man pesters her often enough._

_Her nose crinkles slightly as she catches a whiff of the scent that comes from her unwanted companion._

_"You reek of blood, Shishio," she informs him, pouring herself another cup of sake from the container by her side. She indicates that he should sit; he does so, moving much closer to her than is strictly necessary. She is too tired and too lost in the sake to care._

_"Most killers like us usually smell of blood, little panther," he replies, his tone strangely subdued. Kurohyou decides that if he is going to stay here, he may as well have something to drink. She sets down her drink as he watches her curiously. The assassin reaches into the sleeve of her black gi and extracts another cup, which she hands to him before retrieving her own cup and taking a long sip. _

_They drink together in silence for a while before Shishio inevitably begins to ask her questions. The man seems almost obsessively curious about her and never misses an opportunity to learn more._

_"Why do you always wear black, little panther?" he asks her now, nudging the sake jug closer to her. She takes it without thanks and refills her cup._

_"I am a shadow assassin, Shishio," Kurohyou points out, voice plainly conveying that she is of the opinion that he has asked a very stupid question. "I would rather not be killed because I was foolish enough to wear bright colors in my line of work."_

_"Blue is hardly a bright color," Shishio reminds her, plucking at his own gi. It makes a wet noise as it reconnects with the skin of his chest, and Kurohyou raises one eyebrow quizzically at him._

_"Black is darker," she counters. She shifts herself to kneel beside him and reaches behind her to bring the candle closer to Shishio. The flickering flame danced over her partner's body, showing Kurohyou that the front of his gi is soaked with fresh blood. Without thinking, due mostly to her level of inebriation, the woman reaches out to move the man's gi away from his skin and flinches when her hand is caught tightly in a steel grip._

_"What do you think you're doing, little panther?" Shishio's voice is deep and low, echoing not with the anger she had expected but with something else she cannot identify._

_"Are you wounded?" She attempts to free her hand from his, but Shishio apparently has other plans. Staring at her face as he does so, Shishio draws her hand under the material of his gi and presses it to the deep gash that runs diagonally from his right shoulder to just above his left hip. His blood seeps out to stain her hand as Shishio drags it slowly down the wound. _

_"What do you think, Zetsumei Kurohyou?" he asks, drawing her hand away from his wound and pulling it up to his face. She watches, an odd twitching beginning to move across her skin, as Shishio carefully licks his own blood off of her hand. "Does that constitute a wound in your book?"_

_Kurohyou jerks her hand free and stands, the alcohol induced haze burned away by the feel of his tongue on her skin and by that look on his face. For a wild and terrifying moment she is back in that hotel; she is tied and helpless with blood on her skin and lecherous men all around her chomping for a taste. Panic is gripping her lungs in a vice and she backs away from the quiet man before her as she struggles to breathe._

_She is safe. She is safe. Kurohyou tells herself this over and over as she takes deep breaths through her nose and forces herself to calm down. She is safe. They are dead by her own blade, their bodies lie rotting in graves somewhere. They will never touch her again. They are not here. She is safe._

_Calm again, Kurohyou turns back to Shishio with a face carefully free of any expression._

_"I apologize," she mutters, walking forward and picking up the candle again. "Please come with me."_

_She exits the room without waiting to see if he will follow. She does not turn to him until they are in the back room of the inn and she has drawn a bucket of water and fetched the roll of bandages along with a small pot of ointment. She cannot bring herself to look at his face yet, and instead addresses his feet._

_"If you will remove your gi, I will take care of that wound."_

_He says nothing as he complies; the bloodied gi is tossed carelessly to the side and then he is standing very, very close to her. He is taller by a head than Kurohyou; her eyes are exactly level with his collarbone. She has no idea why she is volunteering to help him. She doesn't even like Shishio – hell, to be honest she detests the arrogant bastard she is now partnered with. She should just give him the bandages and the ointment and make a run for it. But if she does, the assassin is under no illusions that Shishio will taunt her for such a cowardly act for the rest of their partnership._

_So instead of doing the smart thing and bolting for the door, Zetsumei Kurohyou sets the bandages on the floor next to her so that she is able to remove the lid from the small pot of ointment. She then sticks two fingers into the cool paste, gathers a liberal amount on those fingers, and proceeds to smear the ointment onto Shishio's wound. Thankfully the wound is not deep and will not require stitches._

_"You seem to be rather good at this," Shishio observes, his voice still that subdued tone she has never heard from him before. "Who else have you played nursemaid to, little panther? Surely none of the idiots here, who all tremble like cowards when you enter a room?"_

_"My previous partner and I would tend each other's wounds when needed," she replies; with her hand gently rubbing ointment into his wounded flesh, Kurohyou does not miss the way he flinches or the barely-audible growl emanating from his chest. However, Shishio does not comment; it has been only a few months since she bit the hell out of his shoulder for forcing himself on her and insulting the Battousai, and apparently her warning is still relatively fresh in his mind. The doctoring of his wound is completed in silence._

_When the bandages have been secured around his chest and she is washing her hands free of residual ointment, Shishio takes one of her wet hands in his and stretches her arm out. He pulls the sleeve of her gi past her elbow and runs one finger gently down the length of a deep scar that runs from just shy of her shoulder to the back of her hand. Kurohyou is hard pressed to fight back the urge to jerk away from him; she cannot stop herself from flinching in surprise. Shishio eyes her curiously as his finger traces up and down the scar._

_"Would you allow me, your partner, to tend to your wounds if the need arose?" he asks her in a low, soft voice that has her eyes widening slightly in surprise. Mutely, she pulls her wrist from his loose grasp and turns away to head for the door._

_"I don't intend to be injured again to the point where I cannot tend the injuries on my own," she replies once her back is to him. "But thank you for the offer."_

_As she slides the shoji shut behind her, intent on making her way to her bed, Zetsumei Kurohyou distinctly hears Shishio's parting reply._

_"There is nothing that I would __**not**__ offer to you, little panther." _

* * *

Midori was _not_ happy.

The killer stood between Sanosuke and Himura in front of the first set of doors in Shishio's compound. The hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end; her stomach was clenching uncomfortably. Her instincts were screaming at her that something was going to go wrong.

Not that she couldn't see that already. As Yumi had lead them through the maze that compromised the outer layers of Shishio's fortress, the courtesan had gone into detail of what they could expect in the coming battles: one-on-one fights against the best of Shishio's warriors, not to mention the final conflict against Shishio himself. According to Yumi, they would face only three opponents before getting a shot at Shishio himself, which made Midori highly uneasy. Shishio had an entire army at his disposal, not counting his inner circle of fighters that Sanosuke had labeled the Juppongatana. If only three of the Juppongatana remained at Shishio's base for them to fight, with one wounded and in jail, where were the other six?

Aside from that, one-on-one fights could very easily develop into death matches. While it was true that Himura had flatly informed Yumi that he would not allow any of the fighters participating to kill their opponents, did he really have a chance of stopping Saito from doing whatever the hell he wanted? Or stopping that boy Soujiro, who had broken his first _sakabato_, if it came to that?

Midori had remained silent as the three men accompanying her had given their word to stick to one-on-one matches. She had already vowed not to allow Himura to die. Nor would she allow Sanosuke to be slain while she stood by and did nothing. If either of them faced opponents who thought to end the fights by killing them, Midori didn't care who had agreed to what: she would step in and kill her friends' opponents herself.

She didn't give a shit what happened to that bastard wolf.

"This is the first challenger," Yumi informed them as she pushed open the heavy doors. "Please enter."

They did so, Midori's shoulders tight with tension as they emerged onto a small balcony in a dimly lit shrine. A cold sweat broke out over her body as the doors fell shut behind them. There would be no going back from here. The only way to go was forward. She flinched noticeably when Sanosuke suddenly tensed and gasped beside her, his hands balling into tight fists.

"It's Anji," he whispered, brown eyes fixed on the shrine floor beneath the balcony. Midori followed his gaze to meet the eyes of the monk who had removed her stitches and cared for her when she had fainted at Shingetsu Village. The large man stood firmly before them, radiating calm yet clearly ready for a fight.

"I am under orders to ask if Zetsumei Kurohyou requires medical attention," said the monk; instantly all eyes were on Midori as she looked quizzically at the monk.

"And if I did?"

"My orders are to tend to any wounds you may have sustained two nights prior to this. I am to do so before the fighting commences."

Midori frowned. Shishio had ordered this man to take care of her before fighting? Strange. She shook her head at the monk and said, "I do not require your assistance."

"How do you know Anji?" Sanosuke broke in, clearly confused.

"That is the man who removed my stitches when my wound from Saito was sufficiently healed," Midori explained, eyeing her companion with confusion of her own. "How do _you_ know Anji?"

"I think we'd all like to know the answer to that, Sano," Himura added. Saito said nothing, but his cold yellow eyes glittered in the dim half-light of the shrine.

"Anji's the guy who taught me the Futae no Kiwami. I got lost on the way to Kyoto and met him in the woods about a month ago."

A month ago…that must have been days before Midori had arrived in Shingetsu Village. The Futae no Kiwami, as Sanosuke had informed Midori the day before, was the technique he had used to create an extraordinarily dense wall of water when he was being shot at by Shishio's underlings. Sanosuke had learned that kind of technique from Anji?

Seeming to come to some sort of internal decision, Sanosuke cracked the knuckles of his right hand and gave a sharp nod. "I'll fight this one, Kenshin. I got a couple of questions I want to ask him."

As Sanosuke brushed past Himura to descend to Anji's level, Himura reached out and caught at the younger man's sleeve.

"Sano…"

Midori felt an annoyed little twitch develop just above her right eye. Himura was using that tone again; the same pleading tone he always used against her when he was trying to talk her out of something. Apparently Sanosuke was also familiar with this tone, as a twitch was soon visible above his right eye as well.

"Kenshin," Sanosuke gritted out between clenched teeth as he yanked his sleeve away, "I can take care of myself. One of these days it'd be great if you could at least pretend to have some confidence in me. That'd be really great to see."

"Sano," Himura tried to explain, still in that same infuriating tone.

"Leave him alone."

Both men turned to look at Midori, who was shooting a scathing look of her own at Himura.

"If Sanosuke wants to fight, it is not your place to tell him no," Midori huffed, annoyed that they were having this conversation again. "You are not Sanosuke's mother, Himura. If he wants to fight, let him. He knows the risks just as well as you do. He knows what is at stake in these fights just as well as you do. Sanosuke is right, Himura: it would be a great thing to see you have confidence in Sanosuke's abilities. Is he not your friend, after all? Or do you just not trust anyone anymore?"

Himura shut his mouth and bowed his head, red-faced with either anger or possibly embarrassment; Midori couldn't tell, and at the moment she was too annoyed with him to care. Sanosuke practically stomped down the stairs as Anji watched impassively. Midori shot one last reproachful look at Himura, turned back to observe the oncoming fight –

And promptly fell through the floorboards of both the balcony and the ground level to plummet into pitch blackness.

She hit the ground hard, jarring the tender wound to her abdomen and eliciting a pained gasped. She was completely disoriented from her fall; lying there in a heap in the darkness, Midori tried to make sense of what had just happened. How the hell had she fallen through the floor? A trapdoor? But then how had Shishio or whoever had activated the trapdoor known where she would be standing? Was Shishio now omniscient?

Midori killed that idea immediately. Shishio was frightening enough without making him into a god.

"Welcome back, Kurohyou-sama."

Midori was on her feet and pressed against the nearest wall in an instant. Whatever it was that she had fallen through, it had apparently closed; the room she was in was completely devoid of any light. Midori could see nothing, and her hand quickly crept up to the hilt of her _katana_.

A hand brushed against the sleeve of her _gi_; she jerked away from it, yanking her blade from its sheath as she backed fast in the opposite direction. Focusing her ears, Midori could hear the sound of another person's breathing, as well as their steady heartbeat and the faint sounds of footsteps as the person searched for her in the black space. She kept as still as possible, waiting for her opponent to draw within striking range.

"Oh, I'm sorry Kurohyou-sama. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm not going to hurt you or anything; Shishio-sama wants me to bring you to him. He's really missed you."

Oh, _damn_ _it_. It was that boy; Shishio had sent Soujiro of all people to collect her. Was this supposed to be punishment for helping Sanosuke instead of letting Shishio's men shoot him? Personally Midori thought it was too harsh; she couldn't stand this kid, and she had already been forced to endure Yumi's presence today.

Light suddenly flooded the section of wall that Midori was pressed against, completely blinding her and bringing tears of pain to her eyes. She tossed up her free hand to shield her eyes, only to immediately lower it as her recently jostled wound sent a bolt of pain screaming through her abdomen at the movement. She felt wetness bloom across the skin around the wound and figured that she had managed to tear the stitches Omasu-san had put in her gut.

That would explain why it hurt like a bitch to move.

"If you'll please follow me, Kurohyou-sama, I can lead you to where Shishio-sama's waiting for you."

Soujiro was standing next to a newly opened door, one hand on the hilt of his _katana_ and a broad smile on his boyish face.

Midori didn't suppose that she really had any choice. She didn't know her way around Shishio's compound sufficiently to find her way back up to Himura, and she really didn't want to end up lost in Shishio's domain. With only a small hesitation Midori moved towards the door, pausing long enough for Soujiro to exit in front of her before following him.

So the boy was taking her back to Shishio after she had foiled his plans to attack Tokyo and saved Sanosuke's life right under his nose?

This promised to be interesting.

* * *

"Welcome back, _nakama_."

Midori lifted one eyebrow as Soujiro moved to stand beside the couch on which Shishio and his whore reclined, the woman looking as though she were attached to Shishio's side and glaring daggers at Midori. Hoji stood on the opposite side from Soujiro, also shooting black looks in Midori's general direction. Midori spared a moment to wonder how Yumi had gotten here before her, when she was fairly certain the woman had still been with Himura in that shrine when Midori had fallen through that trapdoor. Running her time in the shrine through her head, she realized that she had lost track of Yumi while speaking to the monk, Anji. Oh, well. Not like it mattered, anyway. Midori promptly ignored them all.

"I would have thought that particular façade would have been dropped after the other night," she commented, clenching her hand even tighter around the hilt of her _katana_; she never had sheathed her blade, and something was telling her she might need it shortly.

"What makes you think it was a façade?" Shishio replied; his crimson eyes were boring into her own with a fierce intensity, as if he were trying to brand the image of her face into his mind. A large smirk was plastered across his face, and an air of intense satisfaction was practically wafting from him as he studied her. Midori felt the goose bumps begin popping up all over her body at the sheer forcefulness of that bloody gaze and had to fight back the urge to flinch.

"It was on my part."

Shishio's smirk grew impossibly wider as the woman next to him bristled.

"Just who do you think you are, lying to Shishio-sama in such a manner?" she demanding, pulling slightly away from Shishio's side so that she could better face Midori. It was strange to see the woman jump so readily to Shishio's defense. Could she not see that Shishio was merely playing with her feelings? Couldn't she see that he didn't give a damn about her?

Apparently not.

"I lie to everyone, Yumi-san," Midori informed her quite flippantly. "Why should Shishio be any different?"

"How dare you?" Yumi hissed, her beautiful face contorted with anger. "Shishio-sama has offered you something many people would kill for! A place at his side in the new and glorious Japan that he will create. A place in his life! You should be on your knees before him, thanking him for this amazing gift that he's seen fit to give you! You don't have any right to lie to him! You owe him your respect and your gratitude for sparing your life in his upcoming purge of the weak fools who infest this country."

"I would advise you against dictating what I may or may not do," said Midori, Yumi's anger rolling off of her like water off a duck's feathers.

Yumi rose smoothly to her feet, unhindered by Shishio, who was watching the exchange with great amusement. Moving as gracefully as a swan, the whore seemed to float across the room to stop just inside Midori's personal space.

"You aren't worthy," the woman hissed at her, mint-flavored breath blowing in Midori's face. "You aren't worthy of Shishio-sama's affections. I'll never understand why he would waste his attention on a dirty street-waif like you. What could you possibly have to offer him? The only thing interesting about you is that demonic pair of eyes. You wave that _katana_ around like some sort of big shot, but I'd bet that's just another lie. I doubt you even know how to use that thing!"

Midori stared at Yumi in bored detachment. "I suppose that makes it even harder for you, does it not? Thinking that an unimportant, dirty street-waif is able to hold Shishio's attention when you fail to do so?"

Midori saw the slap coming before Yumi had even raised her perfectly manicured hand. She easily grasped the woman's wrist, squeezing it hard enough to bruise and drawing a gasp from her captive.

"It is not my fault that Shishio is stupid enough to delude himself into thinking that I would want a place by his side," Midori growled, effortlessly keeping her grip as Yumi tried to pull away. "It is not my fault that he does not seem to return your affections. I suppose it's just something that you'll have to live with, as I must endure his insane obsession with me. I do not want his attentions, or his affections, or a place in this world of chaos he is hell-bent on bringing about. I have never killed a woman before, Yumi-san, but if you attempt to hit me again I will not hesitate to strike that empty head from your shoulders."

"How dare you lay your filthy hands on me?!" Yumi exclaimed, jerking her body back at the same time as she tried to pry Midori's fingers from her wrist with her free hand. "No one can touch me except Shishio-sama! Let go of me! Let go of me!"

Shishio stood suddenly from his place on the couch and took a step towards them; Midori released Yumi's wrist as the woman jerked back, sending her stumbling into Shishio's chest. Shishio put his gloved hands on her bare shoulders to steady her, smirking all the while at Midori. She, in return, regarded him with a disdainful look as she tightened her grip around the hilt of her weapon until her knuckles turned white.

"I am not your partner," she stated firmly. "I am your enemy, and nothing else."

"Hoji," Shishio barked, seeming to ignore Midori's statement, "go make sure the room's ready. Soujiro, you go get ready for your fight. Yumi, I want you to get back to the shrine so that you can show Himura where to go."

Midori moved swiftly away from the door as the three left, Hoji and Yumi sending her black looks as they passed and Soujiro giving her his usual empty smile before the door shut behind him. Wary and tense from being left alone with Shishio, Midori positioned herself so that she was close to the door but far enough away from anything solid that she would hopefully be able to maneuver if she had to defend herself. She was very aware of the pain in her side; the wound had stopped bleeding again while Soujiro was leading her to this room, but Midori was under no illusion that it would not begin bleeding anew if she moved too much.

"Did you know that while we were having our fun the night before last in Osaka, my men were attempting to set fires all over Kyoto?"

Midori eyed Shishio as he calmly turned his back to her and walked back to the couch, throwing himself down on it to recline across its length with one arm slung over its back and one leg dangling to the floor. This show of relaxation made her even more on edge, and her eyes quickly scanned the room again to see that they were, in fact, alone. She returned her gaze to Shishio, wondering what the hell he was up to this time.

"I was aware," she said in response to his question. "If I'm not mistaken, the Oniwabanshu and the citizens of Kyoto prevented them from burning the city to the ground."

She was fairly sure that was accurate. Himura had told her the day before that he had sent a message to the Aoi-Ya before their mad dash to Osaka, warning Okina-san and the others that Shishio was planning to burn Kyoto. He had told her that Saito had informed the police as well; and that between the efforts of the Oniwabanshu, the five thousand police officers, and the people of Kyoto themselves, not a single fire had been allowed to burn.

Shishio shot a grin at her, seemingly unbothered by his plan's failure.

"I had Anji bring a politician back here with him. He was killing some of those with my inner circle of fighters while the grunts were getting their asses kicked by the police and those damn ninja. The man Anji brought back was a well-paid government figure who knew all about a certain female _hitokiri_ of the Ishin Shishi back during the Bakumatsu. _He_ thought you were dead, of course, but the slimy rat was willing to tell me anything I wanted to know about you if it would have saved his pathetic life."

Midori narrowed her eyes at him, not liking where this was going. "What did he tell you?"

Shishio raised one hand and crooked a beckoning finger to her. Cautiously, Midori edged closer to the couch; she was careful to stop just outside of arm's length, having no desire to be grabbed by the madman before her. Tense and uneasy, she waited for Shishio to continue.

"What he told me," Shishio murmured, his tone subdued and almost gentle, "was that Zetsumei Kurohyou reportedly joined the Ishin Shishi for the sole purpose of getting personal revenge."

The bottom seemed to drop out of Midori's stomach. Every muscle in her body froze, and she stared at him in shock as he continued in that same weirdly tender voice.

"What he told me was that Kogoro Katsura had recorded that one day in the first year of the Bakumatsu, a young girl no older than thirteen showed up at his recruitment grounds. This girl was ridiculed by the other recruits as she demanded to be conscripted into Katsura's forces; they conceded in a hurry after she sliced a training post in half, right down the middle with a single move, and then diced the seperate pieces into quarters before they could hit the ground.

"The records show that this girl was given an audience with Katsura, where the military leader asked her why she wanted to fight. The girl reportedly told him that she didn't give a shit about the country of Japan; she told him quite frankly that she was only fighting with them instead of the Shogunates because the Shinsingumi had killed her master and she wanted revenge on the man who had killed him."

Midori's guard had dropped enough that she was startled when a gloved hand snatched the wrist of her sword arm and yanked forward, nearly sending her sprawling over Shishio. She managed to catch her free hand against the back of the couch, bringing her face to within bare inches of Shishio's.

"The records," he breathed into her face as she tried futilely to free her hand, "show that Zetsumei Kurohyou claimed that the man against whom she had sworn revenge was the Captain of the Third Squad of the Shinsingumi. One Hajime Saito."

Shishio swung his other hand around her neck and grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking her head far to one side and moving the collar of her _gi_ aside with his chin just before he sank his teeth to the gums into her shoulder.

Midori let out a howl of pain; she tried to push Shishio away from her to no avail, as he would not release the skin currently clutched between his sharp teeth. His breath was sweltering; Midori imagined that for a moment she could feel the heat of it blistering her flesh.

With a fierce lurch Midori pulled away, yelling in pain again as several hairs and a large chunk of her flesh opted to stay with Shishio. She landed hard on her injured side on the floor, her katana bouncing out of her hand to skid away across the floor, the tie for her hair coming undone to allow her heavy waist-length hair to fall like a blanket around her body; and she pressed a hand to the bloody gap in her shoulder as pain washed over her in a flood.

She heard the couch creak as Shishio slid off of it to kneel on the floor before her. A hand clamped down on her upper arm before she could move away, and Shishio pulled her body closer to his as she tried to twist out of his grasp. Another hand was pressed hard against the wound on her abdomen, eliciting a yelp from her as Shishio buried his nose in her loose hair.

"Fair's fair, little panther," he murmured, tightening his grip on her as she tried to get away. "You marked me, now I've marked you.

"I'm going to do something for you, little panther. I'm going to offer you the chance to get that revenge that you wanted ten years ago. I'm going to give you a chance to kill Hajime Saito. I don't want anything in return. You've made your decision to consider me your enemy, and if we end up fighting one another I expect you to fight me with all that passion that I remember. I don't want you holding back, because when I fight the Battousai you can be assured that I won't be holding back in the least. I'm going to kill him, little panther. I'm going to kill your precious, weak old partner _and I'm going to enjoy it_."

_"No!"_ Midori snarled, glaring at Shishio through the heavy curtain of her hair as she continued to try and free herself, sickened beyond words as she realized that he had _swallowed_ the chunk of her flesh. "I will gut you before I allow you to kill him! I will kill you before you have the chance!"

Shishio rolled her violently to her back, straddling her hips as he held her hands to the floor with his own. A deranged smirk bloomed over his features as he watched her attempt to get free, the expression on his face made more terrifying by the twin trail's of Midori's blood that dripped from his mouth to his chin to her face as she thrashed around beneath him.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are when you're angry," he crooned, rocking his hips forward slightly to let her know just how arousing the sight of her was to him. "Once I kill the Battousai and crush the Meiji government – once I have the nation of Japan cradled on the brink of chaos and the strong of this country lined up behind me – I'm going to make you mine forever, Midori. I won't need Yumi anymore because I'm going to make you my woman, and the goddess of my Japan.

"Whether _you_ like it or not."

* * *

_A/N: Please review and tell me what you think._


	23. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori was my idea.

* * *

_Hajime Saito, leader of the Third Squad of the Shinsengumi, casts a disinterested eye down to the body of the old man he has just fatally wounded. A part of his mind acknowledges that the old man had exemplary fighting skill and was a worthy opponent even as another part of his mind notes that his mission is complete. Raiden Wakashisa will be dead within the next few minutes._

_What a waste._

_Between one blink and the next, a waif of a girl is standing between him and the old man, a gaping slash across her scrawny back staining her white gi scarlet. The girl is clutching a katana in her right hand; glancing behind him, Saito is faintly surprised to see the number of men that he brought with him has been cut in half. The rest lie in pieces where they died. He turns back around in time to see another of his men lunge for the girl. He is about to tell the fool to leave her be, but before he can even open his mouth the girl has neatly cut the fool's head from his shoulders. She does not seem bothered by the spray of blood that soaks her face; she merely pushes the headless corpse to the side and kneels by the old man._

_Saito feels a brow lifting. Interesting._

_"Your master is dead, slave," he informs her coldly as she reaches forward and picks up one of the old man's hands. He assumes she is a slave, as she is much too young to be the old man's daughter; and why else would she be here trying to defend the man if it wasn't her duty?_

_"He was killed for his indecisiveness and his cowardense. He refused to protect the Shogunate rule and was therefore deemed a traitor to Japan. We of the Shinsengumi know well how to deal with traitors."_

_He realizes that the girl is ignoring him, focusing instead on her master as she lifts his hand to her face and lightly brushes her lips over his skin. A grin flits across the old man's face, surprising Saito; he would have thought the man was dead by now, considering the damage done by his Gatotsu. He mutters something to the girl, who appears to be crying as she clutches the old man's hand while they talk. After a short conversation, the man's eyes fall shut for the last time, and Raiden Wakahisa dies._

_The girl isn't moving. Saito does not wish to waste time here, but he cannot in good conscience simply leave the girl here alone. She would be picked off by scavengers or by those damned Ishin Shishi bastards that are making his life more than complicated. Nor does he wish to take her with him; he is not some nurse maid to a crying child. Making up his mind, he gives quick orders to his men before walking around the girl and the old man's body and crouching in front of her._

_"Look at me, girl," he commands, irritated when she continues to ignore him in favor of staring at the corpse. When she complies with his command, Hajime Saito finds himself ruthlessly suppressing the urge to flinch. Her eyes are the purest green he has ever seen on a human being; they remind him of cats, pure green unblemished by any other color and rimmed in a ring of black. There is anger in those unnatural eyes; anger and hatred and something that looks like anguish. Saito quickly brushes away the shiver trying to crawl its way up his spine. He is a Wolf of Mibu, not some young pup; he is __**not**__ going to let fear of a little girl touch him._

_"These men will escort you to a safe location," he tells her, more brusquely than he had intended; despite his inner declaration, those eyes staring out at him from a face that drips the blood of the headless corpse to his left are unnerving him more than he is willing to admit. "You will not take your katana; if you attempt to fight you will be subdued. Do you understand?"_

_"What is your name?" The girl's voice does not belong to a little girl. Saito feels the hairs on his arms stand on end at the unnaturally dead, cold tone of the girl's words even as he suppresses a scowl at how the little witch seems to have completely disregarded his words. Impudent brat._

_"Why do you ask such a question?"_

_"I want to know the name of the man who killed my master. I want to know who I will be seeking vengeance against."_

_The men clustered around him laugh as he stands and allows a smirk to turn his lips. This little slip of a girl thinks to challenge him? As if his honor would allow him to engage in a death match with a child. As if she stands a chance in Hell at defeating him. Without bothering to reply, Saito turns and walks away, noting that the men that he is taking with him are quick to follow. Perhaps they are unnerved by the girl. Hmph. Cowards._

_From behind him, that cold voice raises in anger as it shouts its question at his retreating back._

_"What is your name, hitogoroshi?"_

_Saito sighs in exasperation. Is the twit not going to shut up? He decides to give her the information she desires; after all, it's been a long time since one person managed to surprise him as she has done this afternoon, and longer still since anyone managed to unnerve him. If she wants his name so badly, fine. Without turning around or even glancing over his shoulder, Saito gives the girl his name._

_It isn't until he learns that the men he left with her never returned to headquarters that Saito thinks of the girl again, over a week later. He assumes that his men were killed by the Ishin Shishi, along with the girl, and promptly forgets about her._

_When his lieutenant Okita returns from a recon mission barely a year later and informs him that two squads of Shinsengumi have been butchered by a young woman with unnaturally green eyes and a spooky voice, something prickles at Saito's memory. He asks Okita for more information._

_"My squad and I were about to finish our sweep of the area and come back, but we came across another squad and this woman. She was soaked in blood and covered with various cuts and bruises. I told the other squad to stand down and let her pass, because I didn't think she was really someone who would be a threat to us. She heard me say that; this look came over her face like I had just grievously insulted her. She apparently took that as a challenge, as well, because in about half a minute the woman had managed to kill both squads without getting a scratch on her from us. She made some comment to me about letting me live because I wasn't a threat and then she just vanished._

_"Saito-sama, I've never seen eyes like that on a person. They were pure green, like a cat's. And when she spoke to me, it didn't sound like a woman speaking. Her voice was so cold and emotionless; it was like having a dead husk open its mouth and start speaking."_

_Pure green eyes that looked like a cat's. Unnaturally cold voice._

_"Hmm…I suppose the waif is alive then…" _

_Time passes. The years of war go by in a bloody haze. Sometimes Saito hears whispers of the shadow assassin Zetsumei Kurohyou, the ghostly killer who moves with the dangerous grace of a hunting cat and seems to take great pleasure in toying with her victims. Occasionally the assassin purposely leaves a victim of the Shinsengumi alive but mortally wounded; it is as if the woman wants her enemies to know that she is a woman, and what she looks like – so that they will fear her more or so that Saito will know that she is still out there, Saito does not know. Near the end of the war, word reaches Saito that the assassin Zetsumei Kurohyou has supposedly been disposed of by her own allies._

_It is not until over a decade later, when Okuubo sends him to engage his old rival Battousai in battle to test his ability, that Saito gives thought to the assassin Zetsumei Kurohyou again. He has forgotten the waif of a girl with the catlike eyes and the voice that spoke from beyond the grave. When the woman interferes in his duel with that fool Battousai, all he recalls of her is that she was thought to have been killed._

_When she slices a two-inch-deep cut into his shoulder, Saito acknowledges that her technique is very vaguely familiar; she had said that she swore some oath against him, so he must have encountered her at some point in the past. No matter; the Battousai is apparently not willing to let her fight for him, as he promptly knocks the woman out._

_After Okuubo is assassinated, after the Battousai leaves for Kyoto alone and the woman disappears completely, Saito decides that it would be in his best interest to read up on her before she appears again and tries to kill him. The file he finds on her is less than helpful; all he learns is that she was partners with both the Battousai and Makoto Shishio. Kogoro Katsura gave the orders for her elimination, and as far as the Meiji government knew, Zetsumei Kurohyou was dead._

_A ghost, then. So where has Saito seen her before?_

_When he figures it out, as he questions her in his office and she glares at him with death in her unnatural eyes, Saito once again has to repress the urge to flinch. The waif? This scarred, jaded, battered woman in front of him is that same little waif of a girl who butchered half a squad of men and swore to kill him as her master's corpse lay cooling in front of her?_

_Well. This was going to be interesting._

* * *

Midori clutched her bleeding side as she crouched in a corner of the dark room, fighting back tears as she did her best to ignore the pain.

She was so tired.

A slimy, rotting hand tugged at her gi and she jerked away from it, not able to suppress the whimper of fear. She curled into the tightest ball she could manage while still crouching in her corner and buried her face in the crook of her elbow, shivering in cold and feeling the madness of her surroundings pluck at her sanity.

"_**What's wrong, pretty little kitten? Aren't you enjoying this? Don't you want the attention?"**_

How could they be here? How could they be repeating those words when she had killed them?

"_**Aw, look at her, boys. The kitten's shivering; how pathetic. Should we help the little kitten warm up?"**_

Midori flinched every time the word 'kitten' reverberated through her head. They had mocked her with that word, she remembered; mocked the name she had gained from her enemies by making it sound weak and insulting. Midori had never liked being called 'kitten', but after her torture she had hated it.

Why were these memories plaguing her like this?

"_**You must think yourself so superior to us, you little bitch. You must think that because those Shinsengumi bastards are afraid of you and spread bullshit rumors about your killing ability that somehow makes you better than us."**_

Shinsengumi? Kami damn those bastards. They had killed her master, her father, the only family she'd ever had. It was their fault her own allies hated her enough to kidnap and torture her for weeks. If it wasn't for the Shinsengumi she wouldn't be in this pain.

The phantom feelings of hands on her body faded into the background along with the voices as her anger boiled beneath her skin.

_Saito_. All of the pain she had been through during the Bakumatsu, all of the suffering and degradation piled upon her by her so-called comrades, her forced partnership with Shishio and his obsession with her, being betrayed by her only friend – all of it was Saito's fault. He had killed her master. He had turned her world on its head and thrown her into the bloodbath of war. Not to mention he had put a fucking hole in her chest.

Why wasn't he dead yet?

Oh, right; Himura had developed a conscience. Apparently the pesky thing did not think that revenge was moral or some shit like that. Either that or he secretly enjoyed causing Midori pain and had knocked her out from behind just for giggles.

Were murderers even _capable_ of giggling?

That's what Himura was, after all: he was a murderer, a _hitokiri_ just like Midori and Shishio. True he hadn't killed anyone in however long, but that did not change what he was. Anyone who took even one single life _ever_ was a murderer. Some non-killing vow did not and would not change that. And just because he didn't kill anymore didn't mean that Himura had the right to stop Midori from killing a man who most certainly deserved to die.

Midori really did love Himura, but sometimes he was just such a pain in the ass.

For instance, she was well aware that as soon as he and Saito and Sanosuke burst into this room Himura was going to go into 'mother hen' mode and start fussing about her numerous injuries. He would make noise about making her go back to Kyoto, probably with Sanosuke since Himura had apparently decided to babysit the younger man as well. And Midori just knew that he was going to be completely against her fighting Saito at last. He'd probably try to knock her out again.

Midori leaned her aching head back, letting it rest against the wall she was sitting against and staring at the ceiling as she tried to turn off the pain. She needed to push her physical discomfort aside and force her body into readiness. She didn't give a shit what Himura said to her: today was the day that she avenged her master's death. She was going to kill Hajime Saito, and that was the end of it.

And then she was going to kill Makoto Shishio before he could butcher the most important person in her world.

The pair of double doors to her left was suddenly kicked open, causing light to flood the dark room and blind Midori for the second time that day. Squinting her sore eyes, she barely had time to brace herself before a familiar pair of hands were wrapping their fingers around her upper arms and pulling her up.

"_Kabu_! What happened, are you alright?"

"I'll live," she mumbled, trying to pull herself out of Himura's grasp. He immediately released her; probably worried that he was hurting her or some such notion. Worry wart.

"Ah, I see you recognize your next challenger, Himura-san." Midori cringed at the sound of that particular voice, looking over Himura's shoulder to see Yumi standing in the doorway…next to Saito, who was smirking at her with a very dangerous look in his cold yellow eyes. Sanosuke was nowhere to be seen.

Himura seemed to have ignored Yumi's words; his hands were gently peeling Midori's _gi_ back from the bloody gap in her shoulder as Midori and Saito had a staring match. Midori paid no attention until Himura decided to prod the wound with a finger, eliciting a hiss of pain from her and causing her to jerk away from him. Himura looked at her with wide, shocked eyes.

"Is that…is that a bite wound?" he asked, disgust and anger beginning to cloud his features.

"Yes," Midori replied nonchalantly, pulling her _gi_ back the way it was meant to be worn. "It's Shishio's idea of a love bite, I suppose. You could ask Yumi-san for verification, she is his whore after all. Where is Sanosuke?"

"The moron?" Saito snorted, edging further into the room with his eyes still glued to Midori. "He's back where you left us earlier, _youma_, trying to stay awake after getting kicked around like a mutt by that monk. How that idiot managed to win is beyond me."

Midori's gaze slid from Saito to Himura, one eyebrow raised in weary question. "Sanosuke won?"

"Yes, _kabu_."

"Damn right I won!" a voice snarked from behind Yumi. The whore whirled to the side, obviously surprised at the sound, to reveal a very battered and bloody Sanosuke sporting a scowl on his young face. "Kami, _aibou_, I thought _you_ had faith in me at least. Where the hell have you been?"

Midori sighed tiredly, bringing up her left hand to rub furiously at her drowsy eyes. "Having a conversation with a maniac."

Gentle fingers wrapped around her wrist and guided her fist away from her face. Himura's eyes had narrowed slightly; the stress lines around his mouth and at the corners of his mouth were much more pronounced than they had been moments earlier. The lavender had deepened to indigo, and Midori readied herself for the questions. That look just screamed 'questions'.

"What did Shishio want?" he asked her softly, as though trying to be gentle so as not to traumatize her. For once Midori was too damn tired to tell Himura not to treat her like a helpless child; instead she leaned her head against his shoulder and let out a long sigh.

"Me, of course," she groused. Why was Himura asking such stupid questions when she had a fight to win?

"Why does he want you, _kabu_? Did he hurt you? What did he say?"

Midori didn't bother to suppress the giggles that splurged from her mouth, even when Himura drew away from her in worry. Really, this was just hilarious! Had Himura really just asked if Shishio had hurt her? What else would he have done? Shishio lived to cause pain; just because he had decided that he loved Midori past the point of sanity didn't mean that he wouldn't cut her to pieces just for a taste of her blood if he was in the mood. How in the world was Himura expecting to defeat an enemy he so obviously didn't know?

"Did she hit her head or something?" Sanosuke whispered in apparent concern.

Midori couldn't stop herself – she burst out laughing.

Personally, she felt rather like she was having an out-of-body experience. She was tired, she was hurting, and the last thing she felt like doing was laughing like a certain bandage-clad freak show. What was wrong with her? Did Shishio somehow infect her with his craziness through his saliva when he bit her shoulder?

A fist to her cheek sent her reeling back into Himura's arms, the hysterical laughter transformed into hacking coughs mixed with enraged growls. Saito had struck her? The bastard wolf had punched her? Godsdamnit, why was everyone attacking her today?

Fuck it. That meant that Midori now had a perfectly good reason to chop his conceited head off.

"_Kabu_, _kabu_, are you alright?"

"What the hell did you do that for, you fucking bastard!"

Midori pulled herself out of Himura's arms yet again, glaring fiercely at Saito's unconcerned face as Sanosuke railed at him.

"She's hurt, you insensitive jackass, you don't go around punching women in the face! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"She was out of her senses," Saito replied, the tone of his voice clearly conveying just how little he cared that Sanosuke was pissed or that the looks Midori was giving him should have been sufficient to reduce him to ash. "We don't have time for her annoying little breakdowns. Or did you forget while you were getting pounded into the ground that we are actually here for a reason?"

Here for a reason. Yes, Midori was here for a reason, too. She was here to chop Saito into small pieces and scatter them over her master's grave.

"Follow the hallway out that other set of doors," she suddenly blurted, speaking to Himura but not taking her eyes off of Saito. "Don't take any detours or enter any of the rooms off the hallway; just follow it until you reach the end. Soujiro-san is waiting for you there. Take Yumi-san with you. I will follow shortly."

Despite the fact that Shishio had dragged her furiously resisting form to this room, Midori was fairly confident her directions were correct. This way, Himura could go take care of the boy while she played with Saito. It would put them one step closer to Shishio and allow Midori to finally exact revenge for her Myoushu's murder. It was a win-win situation for the both of them.

Gentle fingers grasped her chin and carefully turned her head. Himura searched her face, his eyes darting back and forth across her skin as though memorizing her features. Whatever he found apparently terrified him, for his pupils suddenly dilated and both hands moved to clutch her upper arms painfully tight.

"No," he breathed. "_Kabu_, no, we don't have time! You can't do this right now! We have to keep moving!"

Himura quickly attempted to drag Midori out of the room, heading fast for the second set of doors opposite the ones that had been kicked in. Midori, furious that he would dare manhandle her in such a manner, stubbornly dug her heels into the floor and jerked herself out of his hands. She dodged him as he made to grab her again and backed away, one hand on the hilt of her _katana_ as she growled low.

"Don't you dare presume to tell me what to do, Battousai," she hissed at him. "I have something to do; so do you. Get out."

"_Kabu_, don't be foolish! You can't hope to defeat him on your own!"

Midori felt as if he had just slapped her. His words hurt far worse than Saito's fist had. She turned from him, refusing to let him see the hurt that she knew would be plain on her face. She felt tears well in her eyes and jerked her blade free of its sheath with a snarl of frustration. Whirling around again, Midori lunged at Himura; so surprised was he that he barely managed to bring his _sakabato_ up quickly enough to keep her from slicing him from shoulder to hip.

"How _dare_ you insult my abilities?" she whispered, her voice deadly quiet. "What would you know about them? I have never raised my blade against you! You've never had the chance to gauge my ability, and everyone else that ever has is rotting in their grave! The bastard would be dead already if you had not _knocked me unconscious from behind_ the last time we fought! Perhaps you should keep in mind that I've never made a fool oath to not kill. Perhaps you should consider that instead of allowing my skills to waste away for the last decade, I have kept them as sharp as they were when I was an assassin. I've killed thousands of people, you son of a bitch. _Thousands_. And not all of them were casualties of war.

"So don't tell me I can't kill someone, _Battousai_, or my honor would force me to show you why you are stupid to say such to me. If I want someone _dead_, they are going to _die_; and if you don't get out of my sight, I am going to make you _bleed_."

The voices were back, screaming loudly in her head. They screamed for Himura's blood, for Saito's blood; they screamed for pain and death and hate. Midori felt a crazed grin trying desperately to curl her lips. The voices wanted pain? They would have it. She would make Saito scream with it. They wanted death? No problem; Saito was a dead man walking as soon as she got rid of Himura and Sanosuke.

The voices wanted hate?

Zetsumei Kurohyou had _oceans_ worth of hate for Hajime Saito.

Someone was behind her, she realized with a jolt. Someone had come up behind her while she fumed at Himura, and was bent over her, about to grab the collar of her gi and haul her away from the still-startled redhead. Without pausing to think, Midori jerked her head back sharply and was insanely pleased when her skull connected with the other person's nose. Using the weight she had leaning on her blade – and by extension Himura's blade – Midori shoved Himura away from her, turned her _katana_ on the person behind her, and just barely managed to stop herself from stabbing Sanosuke Sagara through the heart.

Midori looked up into Sanosuke's warm brown eyes, saw the fear there, and felt the bloodlust currently flowing in her veins thicken a hundredfold. She wanted to see that fear in Saito's cold yellow eyes – right before she killed him. She wanted to hear the proud wolf howl for mercy – and then have the satisfaction of denying his wish. She wanted to know what his blood tasted like. She wanted to know if he would cry when she pulled his intestines from his body and played with them with her bare hands. She wanted to pull his black heart straight from his chest while he was still alive, and then crush it right in front of him as he squirmed in his death throws.

Lowering her _katana_, Midori grasped a handful of Sanosuke's jacket and used it to fling the tall fighter in Himura's general direction. Stalking away from them both, she made sure that her back was safely turned to a corner before raising a threatening finger and pointing directly at the whore. The woman cringed and attempted to hide behind Saito, as if the heartless dirt-bag would lift a hand to protect her.

"You will escort them to Soujiro," she snarled, feeling a swell of primal satisfaction as the woman cowered away from her. "If you lead them astray; if anything happens to either of them before they reach their next opponent; if they so much as trip over their own two feet and skin their kneecaps, the last thing you will see in this life will be the blade of my _katana_ piercing your empty skull."

For once, Yumi did not attempt a scathing retort. Instead she practically flew across the room, wretched the heavy doors open, and disappeared down the hall. Midori wasted no time staring after her, instead fixing her gaze on Himura and Sanosuke, both of whom were staring incredulously at her. Sanosuke's nose was growing red and puffy, indicating that Midori had broken it; Midori couldn't be bothered at the moment to feel guilty.

"What are you waiting for?" she snapped at them, jabbing her katana in the direction where Yumi had just vanished. "Go with her. I don't need you. Get out."

Sanosuke, still visibly shaken from nearly getting staked, did not need to be told a second time. In a flash the fist fighter was out the door and after Yumi, the thump of his feet against the floor quickly fading into the background. Himura, predictably, was not so easy to get rid of.

"Don't do this," he begged, his voice so quiet that Midori strained to hear him.

"Get out, Himura."

"Kabu, please –"

"Get. _Out_. Now."

* * *

_Saito watches calmly as the ghost orders Himura out of the room. He remains perfectly unperturbed when she closes the door behind the redheaded imbecile. He feels no worry at being alone in a room with this ghost from his past._

_And then she turns around to face him, and Hajime Saito's blood runs cold._

_It is that same look. It is the look she gave him over the cooling corpse of her master. It is the look that she reportedly gave Okita before slaughtering twenty four trained killers._

_It is the look of an animal on the hunt. It is the look of a predator._

_It is a look that promises death._

"_Are you prepared for this, Hajime Saito?"_

_Her voice echoes like a cry from the depths of Hell. Saito imagines that her breath smells of the dead, and wonders just which one of them is going to be joining their ranks even as he pulls his katana from its sheath and tosses the sheath aside. Slowly, Saito lowers into the position necessary to execute Gatotsu as the ghost watches him with her eerie gaze._

"_This is foolish, youma," he tells her, half-hoping she will decide against this course of action. He does not wish to fight a death match with a woman; not even one who has possibly slain more even than him. She is still a woman, regardless of her kill count._

_The woman cocks her head to the side in an almost comical fashion, regarding him out of narrowed eyes for a long moment._

"_If you continue down this course, there is a high chance you will die," he warns her. He does not want to fight a woman, but he will also not do a fellow hitokiri the dishonesty of holding back. If they are to fight, then one of them is going to die, woman or not. "I will not go easy on you just because of your gender. The Battousai is not here to interfere this time. Are you prepared to die for the sake of your revenge, youma?"_

_Slowly, almost unconsciously, the woman's unnaturally eyes slide shut._

"_Death would be far preferable to life, wolf."_

_She will not be dissuaded, Saito concludes as she shifts into a defensive position across from him. She is prepared to die. She would even prefer to do so._

_Very well._

_Hajime Saito lunges forward into the Gatotsu, fully prepared to help this broken ghost achieve that desired end._

* * *

**A/N: Please review. I'm sorry this took so long. This chapter kicked my ass, I'm not going to lie. I'll try to have the next one out sooner.**


	24. Chapter 23

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Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori is mine.

Thank God for the invention of library cards.

This will be mostly in Saito's point of view and may be shorter than usual. Enjoy.

* * *

_Saito can admit to himself that he is surprised when the ghost disappears from in front of his blade a mere instant before he would have pierced her throat. He lurches to a stop, his eyes going down as they catch movement below; he barely has time to dogde to the side as she moves to cut him. The sting in his lower calf tells him that the blow was only partially avoided; his brain notes that he will have to move fast around this one._

_Again he braces his legs and leaps at her, his Gatotsu ready as always to do his biding. The woman is still crouched on the floor – a perfect target. He aims for the shoulder he has previously injured; he sees no reason to kill her if it is possible to disable her instead._

_For the second time, Saito misses. No one but the Battousai has ever possessed the skill level necessary to dodge his attacks. Perhaps this woman is a worthy oppontnent after all._

_She is crouched across from him when he turns from his second failed attack. Her breathing is heavy, the air rattling in her lungs as a small trail of blood drips from her mouth. Saito regards her with cold curiousity: he has not landed a hit on her yet, so there should be no reason for her to bleed from the mouth. Perhaps Shishio wounded her? It grates on his pride to fight not only a woman, but one who has been hurt beforehand where he has not._

_"This is foolish, youma," he tells her. He has told her this before, but perhaps now that she has the taste of her own blood in her mouth she will be more willing to listen._

_"You are wounded; I am not, aside from that scratch you were kind enough to bestow on my lower leg. If you insist on continuing this pointless match, you are going to die. What will the Battousai do when you are no longer availible to watch his back?" Not that Saito cares about the Battousai; he plans on settling that score himself as soon as this mess with Shishio is cleared up. However, the Battousai and this ghost seem to be very close, despite the Battousai's betrayal of the ghost during the Bakumatsu. If he must stoop so close to actually begging the foolish woman to stop this asinine fight, then he intents to make her feel as guilty about her actions as possible._

_It's only right, after all. The Wolf of Mibu does not __**beg**__._

_The ghost does not seem to be paying attention to his words. A blob of bloody mucus is spat from her mouth onto the floor at her side, and she rises on slightly unsteady feet. She readies herself for his next attack; feet apart and one slightly ahead of the other, hands gripping the katana at an angle across her body as she stares at him with those damnable eyes of hers. An involuntary shiver attempts to make itself know; Saito quashes it immediately. It is natural to occasionally feel fear against a worthy opponent. However, it is also fatally stupid to allow your opponent to see that you feel that fear. Fear is a tool that is to be wielded, not a gift to be given to the enemy._

_Again he attacks, using the next form of his trusty Gatotsu to slash diagonally across her small body. This time his blade meets hers as she attempts to dogde and he counters, bearing down upon her with his superior strength and height. She strains against his blade, causing a small shower of sparks to flare up between them as she tries to force him back. It is a testament to her own strength that Saito is forces to slide a few inches before he thrusts her away from him, thereby breaking her stance for half an instant, and swipes his blade across her body from the lowest rib on the right side to the tip of her left hip. Her blood spatters the floor as she leaps backs, crouching low in a corner of the room._

_Saito is not pleased. The cut should have near bifurcated her; instead he only cut her shallowly. She is exceedingly fast. Wounding her will be an annoying challenge._

_This time the woman is the one to attack. She leaps gracefully into the air, at the wrong angle for him to pierce her with Gatotsu, and flips like an acrobat over his head. He quickly brings his katana around behind his neck, the blunt side pressing bruisingly against his spine as he deflects her blow before she can sever his head from the rest of his body. He pivots, swinging a booted foot at her as she lands lightly behind him. This is a mistake._

_The ghost catches his extented leg in her grasp, digging her fingers into the cloth of his trouser leg and allowing her nails to bite into his calf. The blade of her katana is angled against the top of his thigh, and with a cruel grin the ghost yanks sharply on the weapon. Blood blooms from his skin at the blade slices deep, and the ghost springs away once again._

_Saito draws himself up, annoyed to find that his injured thigh refuses to hold his weight for extended periods. He knows that the ghost can tell that he is favoring the wounded leg, and estimates that she will now continue to attack the damaged side, which is the left and therefore the opposite of his sword arm. It is what he would do if their positions were reversed._

_He thinks to attack before she has the chance. He crouches again and lungs at his opponent, simply attempting to stab her in the upper body and wound her sufficiantly that she will no longer be able to continue battling. However, the wound to his leg is deep enough to slow him fractionally, and with the ghost's superior speed she is easily able to dogde again. What makes it worse is the fact that instead of dogding to the left and wounding that side further as he had expected of her, the little witch goes down low and pivots around him on his right side, sliding her blade across his thigh before he can stop her and cutting another deep gash as she leaps nimbly away, still grinning like a maniac._

_Saito is tempted to ask if the ghost is the one who taught Makoto Shishio how to smile like that, or if it was the other way around._

_Instead he chooses to back away, putting distance between himself and his opponent so that he can think of just what in the seven hells he is going to do next. His squad must be rolling in their graves to see their esteemed Captain be wounded time and again by this tiny little woman. His pride is now sufficiantly wounded for him to be angry._

_Perhaps he should simply kill her and have done with it. Even if he manages to defeat the little waif and chooses to let her live, there is no garuntee that she will not someday attempt to find him for another match. If that happens, there is a chance that she will find Tokio and whatever children they might someday have – not to mention that brat Eiji. And that, Saito decides, is unacceptable. An alpha wolf must protect its pack from all threats, and this ghost might one day be a threat to Saito's pack if he does not kill her now._

_**"LEAVE ME ALONE, DAMN YOU!"**_

_Saito lifts an eyebrow as the ghost screams the command, one hand clutching her head as if she has been struck. Just who is the yoama shouting at? This was her idea, after all._

_"__**I DIDN'T ASK FOR THIS! I DIDN'T WANT TO BE NOTICED! I DON'T WANT THEIR FUCKING NICKNAME!"**_

_Saito thinks that perhaps she is insane, like her former partner Shishio. What a shame._

_**"I DON'T WANT TO BE A FUCKING KILLER AT THIRTEEN! I DIDN'T HAVE ANY CHOICE, DAMN IT! I HAD TO DO THIS FOR MYOUSHU!"**_

_The youma slams her head backwards into the closest wall, gives out a sobbing coughing breath, and falls still with her eyes clenched shut._

_This girl is just chalk-full of surprises._

_Saito decides not to attack her while she collects herself and releases his blade with one hand, which he uses to dig in the pocket of his trousers for his cigarretts and the book of matches. He lights up and inhales deeply, relishing the burn of the smoke in his throat. He closes his eyes for a moment to fully enjoy the sensation. When he opens them again, the youma is staring at him; her pupils are dialated so that her eyes appear almost black, with just a thin band of that unnatural green forming a ring around the pupil._

_"If you don't mind, youma, I'd like to have the time to finish this smoke," he sneers at her, noticing that her lips are tightly pressed together and that her body is shaking with what is either mainiacal laughter or more of her coughing._

_She makes not reply to his words, merely sinks down to sit on the floor. Her blade is still clutched tightly in one hand; the other hand is rubbing the skin above her right temple, as though she has a pounding headache. She opens her mouth to expel more bloody mucus, proving that she was shaking from coughs and not laughter._

_Too bad for her._

_"They want me to kill you, you know," she whispers hoarsely. Saito idly notes that this is the first she has spoken since telling him that she would prefer death to life. He decides to humor her._

_"Who? The Battousai and that idiot Sagara?" he scoffs, puffing on his cigarrett. Like he gives a shit what the Battousai and that brainless moron want._

_The youma shakes her head._

_"No. The voices. They tell me to kill you. They want your blood, because I took theirs. They tell me that they will leave me if you die."_

_Ah. So the youma has ghosts of her own that haunt her. Saito has never had that problem, personally. A ghost can only hurt you if you fear it; the same applies to a memory. Saito had always refused to let the pass frighten him._

_"And why do these 'voices' what me dead so badly, youma?" he asks her flippantly. He couldn't care less, but it might be interesting to see what she says. That, and he'll have more time to think as the crazy woman talks._

_The youma tilts her head to the side, looking remarkably like a bird for a moment. "Because they are jealous of me. They were always jealous of me."_

_Her words make no sense to Saito. "What were they jealous of?"_

_She taps the blade of her katana against the floor, her dialated eyes narrowing in memory. "My skills. My fame. Katsura-sama's high regard for me. My closeness with Himura. The fear that followed me like a cloud of blackness."_

_She looks at him then, and the look on her face is one of a lost child alone in the world._

_"It was your fault," she whispers, gripping the hilt of her katana tightly so that her knuckles turned white. "It was your fault that I shamed them. It was your fault that they hated me, that they conspired over their sake while I was out killing our enemies. It was your fault that they lied to Katsura-sama and set up that job. It was your fault that…"_

_She trails off, her body shaking again as though she has caught a chill. Saito waits a moment, processing what she has already told him._

_"What was my fault, youma?" _

_She snaps then, launching herself at him with blade aimed for his throat. Saito brings up his own blade to parry, pushing her back and trying not to stumble on his wounded legs._

_"Everything!" she screams at him as she comes again._

_"Everything!"_

* * *

Midori slid low across the floor as Saito forced her away once again. His strength was enormous; even with the deep wounds in both of his thighs, that greatly limited his mobility, he was able to repel her with nothing more that his upper body. The cut on her abdoment, from last rib to opposite hip, would have been much worse where Midori a man and unable to move as quickly as she did.

Himura didn't count. He was just fucking fast, period.

**"STOP STALLING! KILL HIM! KILL HIM! GIVE US HIS BLOOD!"**

Midori cried out again, her eyes squinting nearly shut with the force of the mental command. Why were they screaming at her now? She had not heard the voices of those men since her nightmares of those two weeks in Hell had faded. It had been years. And now they were screaming as though the long-dead mean were in the room with her.

"What are they saying to you now, youma?"

That voice, she hated above all others. That voice would star in her nightmares for the rest of her life, even after she managed to kill the speaker. If she managed to kill the speaker. Godsdamnit, why was Saito so powerful? What must she do, cut of his arms before she could kill him? Why should she have such difficulty with him when he had simply waltzed up to her master and slain him without a pause? It wasn't fair, damnit!

She threw herself back into battle. Her blade clashed with Saito's again and again as she tried futiley to land a blow to his upper body. One debilitating hit was all she would need to cripple him enough to finish him off. Just one sound wound.

Saito apparently was aware of that, for he was doing his damnedest not to let her cut him again. His range of mobility was severely hampered by the combined leg wounds, and yet he brushed off some of her attacks with an air of ease that infuriated Midori. The bastard had to die! She had to be the one to kill him!

She didn't have time to play with him. Himura needed her. Himura could not defeat Makoto Shishio on his own. Midori had to finish this now, before Shishio killed the only important person left to her.

There was one move that she knew of that might possibly kill Saito with one blow. A move that was dangerous, one she was loath to use due to the high probability of failure. However, Midori didn't see where she had a lot of options anymore. Saito might be wounded, but he wasn't coughing up blood or aching in strange and uncomfortable ways from a brawl with Shishio. Midori might need ony one attack to bring an end to the fight, but she had seen Saito fighting enough by now to know that he was still an extremely dangerous opponent. She needed to end this before he decided to.

For her move to work, Midori was going to have to get Saito into the middle of the room. Now that she had messed up his legs so badly, Saito was sticking to the edges of the floor, keeping his back to the walls as much as possible. She needed to get him away from those damned walls, because for her move to work, Midori would need to get beneath Saito and have room behind him as well.

If she timed this right, she might be able to cut the man in halfs and finally claim revenge for her beloved Myoushu.

If she didn't time it right, she was going to die.

Which was why she was hesitating.

Her Myoushu had once warned her that in a battle, especially a one-on-one deathmatch, the absolute worst thing you can do is hesitate.

As though by magic, Saito was suddenly before her, arms driving his blade towards her heart in an odd move that would have kill if she hadn't moved immediately. She had barely a second to edge to the side, so that the attack missed her heart and pierced her right side. Once again Saito had punctured her lung, and Midori spat blood from her mouth as Saito's attack propelled her backwards and up, until she hit the wall to the side of the doors leading onwards. The blade twisted in Midori's flesh, and more blood was spat as she gasped at the searing pain. She scrambled to find her footing, only to find that to her horror, Saito had pinned her to the wall with his katana, and her feet could not reach the ground.

She was pinned, and at Saito's mercy.

____

* * *

_The youma glares at him, hanging there like some kind of ornament from blade of his katana as he gazes dispassionately back. His legs burn with pain thanks to this annoying woman; she can hang there for a while as far as Saito is concerned._

_He releases the hilt of his katana, not bothering to pull it out of her, and digs again in his pockets for cigarretts. The little witch attacked him before he could finish that last one, so she can just wait around until he's done with this one._

_"Why are you hesitating?" The youma sounds like she's gargling. It's almost funny._

_"I'm not the one that was hesitating, youma. That would be your flaw, which is why you're currently hanging from the wall." He uses the same bored, I-have-better-things-to-do-than-acknowledge-you tone that he always uses around her. Just because the witch almost managed to kill him didn't mean he was going to let her know that he did respect her as an opponent. To a certain degree, anyway. Probably somewhere in between the Battousai and that moron Sagara. True, it was closer to the Battousai, but she didn't need to know that, either._

_He should have moved further away from her, so it is entirely his fault when the youma slashes him across the chest with the katana she still clutches in her hand. He moves back after that, pressing a hand to the fairly deep wound as he watches her try to free herself and make a bigger mess of things in the process. He sighs loudly in annoyance._

_Women._

_"Are you really that stupid that you would kill yourself just to kill me?" he asks. He is honestly curious; he doesn't understand this woman, and maybe if he asks her a few questions, she can clear up some of his confusion. She owes him that much at least for the headache she's given him._

_Instead of answering him like a reasonable human being, the woman reaches as far down Saito's blade as possible and wraps her hand around it. She tightens her grip on the blade, not seeming to care that she has sliced open her palm, and procceeds to attempt to pull the katana from her chest._

_Saito suppresses yet another sigh. This woman is going to drive him crazy, he just knows it._

_Saito darts forward while her eyes are off of him and jerks the blade from her chest himself. She swings at him with her own blade as she falls to the floor, but her legs buckle under her and he is able to retreat from her strike zone._

_"Didn't your master teach you to know when a battle is won or lost?" he asks her, knowing that it will piss her off._

_"**DON'T YOU DARE SPEAK OF HIM!**"_

_How predictible. Saito watches with a measure of pity as the youma attempt to force her legs to hold her weight. They refuse to; her body is attempting to go into shock because of all the blood she's losing. Saito's annoying conscience, which sounds alarmingly like the Battousai, pesters him to help her stop the bleeding. Saito wonders just how he is supposed to do that when the damn woman won't let him near her without trying to gut him. He likes being alive much more than he cares about this sad little waif._

_"You won't be able to stand for awhile," he tells her dispassionately, limping over to where his sheath lie and having to bend akwardly to pick it up. Damn, his legs hurt. They're going to make him fairly useless against Shishio, which means the Battousai is the one who will get to have all the fun. Oh, well; life has a habit of being unfair._

_That damn woman is ignoring him again, and making him into a liar; when he turns around she is standing on wobbly legs, blood pouring from the whole in her upper chest and coating her side and right arm. The hand that is clutching her katana, which is sunk into the floor as a kind of crutch, is dripping her blood down her own blade. She glares at him from under her long black bangs, and Saito has to remind himself that it is beneath his dignity to roll his eyes. She is trembling like a leaf; his annoying conscience tries to tell him to give her his jacket, but her quashes the voice before it drives him mad, too._

_"The only reason you aren't dead right now is because of the skills Raiden Wakahisa taught you," he tells the woman, keeping one eye on her blade and one on her face. "Don't you think the man would want to live for his memory, instead of throwing your life away in some foolish revenge? He would be a poor master indeed if you would command you to die for his memory, youma."_

_He expects her to scream at him to be silent._

_He expects her to say he know nothing of her precious master._

_He expects her to attack him again, hole in her chest or no._

_What Saito does not expect is for the youma to crumple to the floor in front of him, landing in a heap facedown as her hand slides away from it's deathgrip on her katana. He nudges her once with the toe of his boot, and when she makes no protest Saito hauls the ghost up from the floor by the neck of her bloody gi and drags her over to lean against the wall. He crouches painfully beside her. Her eyes are open, but she is not with him. The green has redominated her eyes and is a hazy, faraway color._

_"I'm not staying here to play komori to you, youma," he grouses as he pushes himself to his feet and makes for the doors. "You can stay here and pout or come and help your precious Battousai. I don't care which. Make up your own damn mind for once, youma, and don't make a decision based on what a dead man would have told you to do."_

_He glances back at her; she hasn't moved. He snorts in displeasure and makes his way out of the door._

_As he pulls it closed behind him, Hajime Saito just barely pauses as he hears words float through the lessening crack between door and wall. The voice is one that he has heard from the woman before; it's not the one from the grave or the tone of derision he is accustomed to._

_It is a tone slightly harsher than that which she uses on the Battousai or the moron._

_"My name is Midori."_

* * *

I typed this out at a local library. Yay for modern resources. Please review.


	25. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

_Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori was my idea._

* * *

_It is dark._

_It is quiet._

_She lies in the darkness and ponders the possibility of her death. Her body feels heavy, as though stones have been tied to her limbs and are dragging her down. The pain in her shoulder is gone, as is the pain in her abdomen. The taste of blood is gone from her mouth. The voices that previously screamed from her mind are quiet._

_She wonders if this is what death feels like._

_"Kawaii sukoshi baka."_

_The voice calls to her from the blackness that surrounds her. She attempts to wrinkle her nose in distaste at the nickname, but is not surprised to find that she is unable to move. She waits._

_"Do not weep for me, otome."_

_She cannot help it, she wants to tell the voice. The tears will not stop falling. They fall and fall; and she feels that she will someday drown in them._

_"Know that I am proud of you."_

_What has she done, that the voice should feel pride in her accomplishments? She has done nothing to better the world; nothing to better her own life. She cannot even claim the revenge that she was sworn will be hers. She is a failure._

_"Know that I love you more than life."_

_Why? She wants to scream the question, and anger wells when her mouth will not open. Why do you say that you love me when you left me here alone? Why would you say that you love me and then go where I cannot follow?_

_"Live long for me."_

_She despises the voice for giving that command. She does not wish to live any longer. She wants to let the blackness consume her. She wants the voice to lead her to whatever comes next when a person dies. She wants to go to sleep here in the blackness and never wake again. Living hurts too damn much to do it anymore._

_"And find happiness."_

_The voice is gone now, and she is alone again. The tears well in her eyes, making them sting, but she cannot shed them. She cannot speak to voice her pleas for the voice to come back. She cannot plead for the voice to take her with it._

_"Aishiteru yo."_

_It is barely more than a breath again her ears. She cannot make the traditional reply. She cannot say goodbye for the second time._

_What is she to do now? She has lost her fight. The opponent she has pursued for so long has defeated her. If she leaves the quiet, the darkness, she will have to deal with the pain that is her constant companion in life. She will have to deal with the maniac that covets her. She will have to deal with the man she loves and his disgraceful lack of faith in her. Why not simply stay here? Why not simply remain in the quiet and the dark?_

_"...I was jealous of you, Midori-san. Kenshin acts so differently around you; it's like you bring out a completely different person in him that none of the rest of us can even touch..."_

_The quiet is broken by the words of the unseen girl. More are soon to follow._

_"You should know that you are beautiful to me, kabu."_

_The woman feels her body move at last; she flinches at the sound of that voice, unnerved by it's appearence in the darkness that presses around her._

_"I would like to kiss you very badly, kabu."_

_"I find it easier to be myself around you, kabu."_

_"Kabu...my kabu...I'm sorry..."_

_The voice is coming faster now, the words clearer. The tears that previously burned her eyes are now pooling in her libs, making waves of sorrow across the bottom of her vision._

_"...I wish I could make you understand. I wish you could know the feelings of my heart...don't leave me, kabu...please...stay with me..."_

_She wants to tell the nice voice to shut up, to save it's lies for someone stupid enough to believe them. She wants the voice to go away._

_"I will never leave you, kabu."_

_You left me once, she thinks, furious at the lies, the empty promises. What will stop you from doing so again?_

_"Shhh, kabu, it is alright now. You are safe with me; I will not let anyone harm you...it's alright, kabu; I have you, you are safe now..."_

_And who, the woman wonders, is going to keep me safe from you?_

_She wants to bark that she does not need the voice to protect her; she needs the speaker to trust in her ability to protect herself._

_A new voice breaks the returning silence, booming at her from the darkness. The arrogance and self-appreciation in the voice annoy her._

_"You love that baka, don't you?"_

_"It is not enough!" she yells, surprised to find that she can do so. She rises, pushing herself into a sitting position as the weights ease from her limbs. She sits as a child who is alone, with her legs pressed to her chest and her chin resting on her knees._

_"Love is not enough!" she shouts to the darkness._

_The next voice to be heard freezes her. The woman wants to cringe; she wants to petition the darkness to swallow her so that she may hide from the voice and the accusations it carries._

_"Why are you still here, Midori? I told you to leave. Are you working for Shishio?"_

_"No!" the woman shouts. She lurches to her feet, throwing her arms wide and spinning in a circle as she screams her frustration at the darkness. "Why will you not trust me? Why will you not believe in me?"_

_"You slept with him. What am I supposed to believe?"_

_The tears that previously burned at the back of her eyes are now cutting a hot path down her cheeks, dripping from her chin into the surrounding darkness. Their tiny splashes echo in her ear._

_The nice voice is whispering to her again._

_"I owe you an apology."_

_Empty words, empty words to fill the woman's head. No truth in the words, no trust in the words; the words are empty to her. Empty like her life. Empty like her heart._

_"Jealousy. I was jealous that you would share yourself like that with a man like Shishio."_

_As if the speaker had ever asked her to share herself with him. As if Shishio had been the woman's executioner, and not the speaker. As if Shishio had ever denied the woman his trust, as the speaker did._

_"I was thinking earlier that my life would be so much simpler if I could just leave you to die."_

_The woman's voice sounded in the darkness, even as the woman herself said nothing._

_"It would be simpler, but I could never do it. I love you too much to kill you. I love you too much to let Shishio kill you. I love you, Kenshin Himura. I will always love you, even if it leads to my death."_

_The darkness is growing lighter._

_"You should never feel jealous of Shishio. My heart has always been yours, and it will always be yours Kenshin. Only yours."_

_In the grayness where the woman now stands, she can see the extent of her injuries. The wound in her chest weeps blood down her side and arm. The bite mark on the skin where neck and shoulder meet is an angry purple, dried blood trailing from the edges; it bite throbs in time with her heartbeat. The hole in her abdomen, combined with the broken rib and the slash that goes from littlest right rib to the tip of her left hip paints her torso a combination of black, blue, purple, and the scarlet of fresh blood as the liquid trickles down her stomach and flanks. She looks a most ghastly sight._

_"You have no idea how beautiful you are when you're angry."_

_The disimbodied, hated voice still carries the ability to make her skin crawl with disgust._

_"Once I kill the Battousai and crush the Meiji government - once I have the nation of Japan cradled on the brink of chaos and the strong of this country lined up behind me - I'm going to make you mine forever, Midori. I won't need Yumi anymore because I'm going to make you my woman, and the goddess of my Japan._

_"Whether you like it or not."_

_She is still seething with rage when the next voice breaks the quiet. This most hated voice speaks low in her ear in the bored, superior tone that infuriates her to no end._

_"You can stay here and pout or come and help you precious Battousai. I don't care which. Make up your own damn mind for once, youma, and don't make a decision based on what a dead man would have told you to do."_

_The woman is not sure whether she wants to thank the speaker or strike him. Probably strike him._

_She does not wish to return. _

_But...if she does not return, her beloved may die._

_The mere thought of such an outcome frightens the woman more than the thought of death, more than the thought of continuing to live. She must not let the man she loves die. She will not._

_So, resigned to her fate, the woman takes a deep breath and closes her eyes._

Deep within Mount Hiei, in a dark room reeking of blood, Zetsumei Kurohyou gave a hacking cough and opened her green, slightly glowing eyes.

* * *

The pain of her wounds nearly knocked Midori back into unconsciousness. For a moment, the dark room seemed to shimmer around her, the edges of her vision wavering alarmingly before solidifying once again. Sluggishly, Midori braced her feet on the floor and levered herself upright, leaning heavily on the wall behind her for support. Wearily she took stock of her situation.

She was alone in the room where she had lost her match with Saito. She had lost a substantial amout of blood, and the wound from where Satio had pinned her to the wall was still bleeding. The gash on her abdomen had already clotted over. She was weak, dizzy, and heavily wounded.

On the plus side, Midori was pleased to note that the voices of the dead were silent again. That, at least, was a blessing to her somewhat frazzled mind.

Midori staggared away from the wall, gripped the hilt of her katana from where it was still stabbed into the floor, and pulled the blade free.

She didn't have time to worry about herself. She had to find Himura.

Now.

With no grace left to her mangled body, Midori dragged herself out of the room and set of down the hall as fast as her shaky legs would carry her. In all likelihood, Himura was either still trying to get past the boy Soujiro, had already lost and was in deep shit, or was now on his way to face Shishio. Midori had no idea how long she had been unconscious; no idea how much Himura had really improved with the training he underwent with that jackass Hiko. Was Himura badly hurt, at the mercy of that annoying boy or his insane master? Was Sanosuke hurt?

She had no way of knowing, and the uncertainty had her dragging herself down the hall that much faster.

"Well, well. It looks like you're more stubborn than I had anticipated, _youma_."

That voice had her pulling to a stop, eyes locked on the boots interuppting the stretch of floor that she had been following.

"Well? Are you just going to examine my feet all day, _youma_, or are you going to snap some witty retort?"

"Fuck you, Saito," she snarled, raising her head with much too great an effort to meet Saito's mocking gaze. "Would you move? You're blocking the way."

Saito had the audacity to tsk at her, as if she were a naughty little girl who was backtalking her superiors. Bastard wolf.

"Are you in such a hurry to reach that idiot Battousai that you can't even spare a moment to greet our guest here?" he asked her quite lazily, patting his pockets for the ever-present cigarretts. He jerked his head to the side at her questioning look. Her eyes wandered tiredly where the arrogant man had indicated.

It was that man. The one with the deathly aura; the one whom she had thought to keep an eye on. He looked a mess. His large white overcoat was gone, as was the chilly aura; he looked quite as unsteady on his feet as Midori felt, and across his chest was cut an angry, deep welt. Midori could not figure what would leave such a welt on the flesh, and shot an inquiring look at the man to see if he would be willing to tell her.

"The Battousai," he supplied in a monotone, leaning heavily against the doorframe of the room they were standing in front of. Midori chanced a quick glance behind the man at the room itself, raising an eyebrow at the level of destruction that was revealed.

"Where did he go from here?" she demanded, making to pass Saito and continue hobbling her way down the hall.

What she was not prepared for was the heavy hand that came down and gripped tightly onto the patch of skin that had just hours ago been graced with the brand of Shishio's teeth. The grip brought her to an abrupt halt and wrangled a pained gasp from her lips. She attempted to extract herself from under the hand to no avail.

"Shouldn't you be trying to kill me again, _youma_? Not that I'm complaining, but that seems to be your mantra whenever we run into each other." He just had to inject that note of disbelief at the thought of her killing him, didn't he? Midori really, really hated Hajime Saito.

"I'd rather keep Shishio from killing Himura or Sanosuke," she bit out through clenched teeth. Was it really beyond Saito to be halfway gracious in his damn victory.

"And you think you'll have better luck against Shishio than you did against me, do you?" Apparently the answer was yes, graciousness was beyond Saito.

Midori tore herself from his grasp and whirled - or more accurately wobbled - around to face Saito and the other man.

"Might I remind you, _wolf_, that you are currently crippled in the legs because of me? In your present condition Shishio could kill you with his bare hands! I know the way Shishio fights better than any of you. I was his partner for years, remember? Surely you read that little detail in those files you pulled on me. I've seen him fight; you haven't. All you have to rely on for intel is a bunch of secondhand notes from government fools who barely knew him. If you go to where he is right now with the intention of killing him, it will be _your_ blood that coats _his_ blade, Saito, and I will be damned if I let Makoto Shishio finish you off when I could not."

Saito seemed unimpressed with her little speech. He took a deep drag from his lit cigarrett, let it out slowly. "Do you even know where Shishio is waiting for the Battousai, _youma_?"

"No," she replied immediately. "Do you?"

"Of course I do. Who do you think you're talking to, _youma_?"

Smug, infuriating, bastard of a wolf.

* * *

Midori got about halfway up the hundreds of stairs outside, the stairs that seperated her from the two men who professed to love her, when her legs gave out.

There was no warning. One moment she was toddering up the stairs at quite a distance behind Saito and the man known as Aoshi, clinging to the banister for support. The next moment she was tumbling back down the flight of stairs she had just labored up, falling head over heels back down to the previous landing.

Midori could faintly hear the voice of Aoshi calling down to ask if she was all right. Personally she felt that it was a stupid question, but she was unable to draw the breath needed to say such to Aoshi. Surely a distinguished leader of a famous group of ninja had no need to ask such an obvious question.

Oh, yes, she knew who this man was. Aoshi Shinamori, the Leader of the Oniwabanshuu of Tokyo, previously Edo. This was the man Himura had promised Okina that he would bring back, when he was trying to get Okina to agree to keeping Midori at the Aoi-Ya. He was also the man famous for leading the protecters of Edo Castle during the Boshin Wars, when he had been barely more than a boy himself.

So, surely a ninja of his calibur was capable of seeing that no, in fact, Midori was far from 'alright'.

Midori pushed the thoughts aside as she levered herself up to a sitting position, her back pressing into the stairs she had just tumbled down. She raised a weary hand and made the universal shooing motion to her compainions, not caring in the least if she offended them by doing so.

"I will follow shortly," she called, just the slightest tremor present in her voice.

Her compainions made no reply, and she assumed that they merely continued climbing.

Midori set about massaging her upper legs. The muscles in her thighs were jumping sporadically under her skin, and Midori was sure that her beloved Myoushu was rolling over in his grave.

_Did you stretch before your battle? Did you prepare your body for the torture you put it through? Or did you just jump gung-ho into the fray without a thought to your muscles and the aftereffects of moving your body at the speeds that my technique requires? Baka! You are a woman, which means that your body is weaker than mine, which means you have to stretch first, young lady!_

"I do not need any voices in my head now," Midori groused out loud, feeling immensely foolish. She was talking back to the memory of her master's voice. It was obvious that she was just as crazy as Shishio.

She always had hated the need to stretch so completely before assignments. It had been something that embarrassed her greatly during the Bakumatsu; she had lived in a state of nervousness that one of the men she fought with would learn that she was forced to stretch before assignments so that her _weak_, _female_ body would be able to withstand her master's technique. As though those men did not find enough things about which to deride her.

Midori quickly gave each leg a hard massage, anxious to be done with it and get to Himura. He had been in two fights already, against Aoishi and the boy; he would be tired, weaker than Shishio, who had fought no one. What if he were badly hurt? What if he needed her right now, and she were stuck on the stairs giving herself a damn massage? She had to get to him.

As soon as her leg muscles ceased to jump, Midori was once again climbing the stairs. As much as she hated to admit it, the massage had done wonders. She was moving at almost her normal jog, making much better time up the stairs. There was no sight of Saito or of Aoishi, and Midori assumed that they had already reached the arena Saito claimed that Shishio had built at the top of all of these damn stairs. The bastard wolf had had a damn blueprint of Shishio's compound all the time, and had purposely failed to tell Himura. Bastard.

Sweat dripped from Midori's face as she moved higher, soaking her clothes along with her blood. Shishio had put enough petroleum-burning furnaces around this arena of his to make it feel like an out-of-control hot springs. The heat rose with Midori's climbing figure in waves as she ascended the stairs.

It seemed she was at last getting a look at Shishio's government's money source.

Midori vowed that Shishio's government would never see the light of day, simply because the maniac had forced her to climb all these stairs.

When she at last reached the top of the damnable stairs, Midori expected to feel relief. She expected to fairly sag with it.

She did not expect to look through the door before her, see Himura lying on his back on the ground with his _gi _torn to shreds and his empty eyes staring unseeingly at nothing, and feel a jolt of panic shoot through her heart.

Midori was through the door and halfway to Himura's prone figure before she even registered that she had moved. She saw Sanosuke out of the corner of her eye, crumpled in a heap in a crater in the wall, his right hand a mangled wreck. She saw Saito, that bastard, kneeling on the ground with slashes crisscrossing his chest; the leg wounds he had recieved from Midori were open and bleeding afresh. She saw that the whore Yumi and the politician Hoji were standing together directly across from her, Yumi clutching a pocket watch and both of them boasting large smiles of confidience.

And then she was crouched protectively over Himura, and he was all that she could see.

There was a bite mark like hers on the top of his shoulder. A cloth bandage wrapped loosely around his neck, it's edges burnt. A large, fist-shaped burn mark marred the skin of his chest; Midori guessed the Shishio had caused an explosion with the powder and oils that coated his gloves and the blade of his katana, which would also explain the state of Himura's clothing. But surely that would not be enough to bring Himura to such a state? Surely that would not be sufficient to cause his eyes to be so empty?

"Himura," she tried to say, but her movements had upset the hole in her shoulder and thereby the hole in her lung. Her throat was filled with blood, which she quickly spat to the side. Again she turned to Himura.

"Himura," she rasped, gripping his unbitten shoulder and shaking him. There was no reply; Himura remained unresponsive.

"Himura, get up, you _baka_. Get up right now. Stop this foolishness immediately."

No response.

Midori raised her eyes, looking around frantically as if the answer to her problem would appear before her. Her eyes locked with those of Shishio, and her whole body grew tense with a mixture of fear and anger. The bandage-clad fighter was engaged with Aoshi Shinomori, who appeared to be attempting to keep him away from Himura's prone figure. It was clear to Midori that Shishio was playing with the ninja, making sport of his efforts as though they were merely a pretty show to amuse the madman. His eyes were dancing with insanity and amusement.

"Do you like my present, little panther?" he called to her, easily blocking Aoshi's attacks without even needing to look at the injured ninja. "He is bloodied and helpless, just for you. You're revenge is in your grasp now, little panther. Take it, and consider it my gift to you. The Battousai's all yours."

Shishio thought to give her Himura's battered body as a _present_?

Her eyes went back down to the body of Himura, sprawled out listlessly before her like some kind of ancient sacrifice. Anger boiled the blood in her veins. _How dare _Shishio raise a blade against Himura? _How dare _he hurt what was Midori's?

With a shout of rage Midori was on her feet, leaping over Himura and barreling towards Shishio with murder in her eyes. She forced her wounded body in between Shishio and Shinomori, shrieking in wordless rage as she blocked Shishio's intended attack and slashed at his chest. She would cut his black heart out. She would present it as a gift to Himura with her sincere declaration of love. She would show Shishio what happened to a person when they hurt those that Midori cared for.

"Are you prepared to die, Makoto Shishio?" she screamed in her fury, dogding his blade as best she could and trying endlessly to wound the bastard with her own. "Are you prepared to die? Because I swear to you, you will not leave this arena while still breathing! I swear it!"

"What are you doing, woman?" Shishio demanded, attempting to disable her with a well-place wound to the legs. "You should be thanking me on bended knee! I'm giving you the means to the revenge you've wanted for over a decade. Look, there's Saito over there, woman, unable to move and ready for your punishment! And the Battousai is out cold and completely defenseless! Why are you attacking me, you infuriating - stupid - damnable woman!"

He pierced her right thigh, cutting all the way through so that his _katana_ poked from front to back and out again. With a snarl he jerked it free, and Midori found herself kneeling shakily before him, blood from her thigh soaking her black _hakama_ and creating a pool of red beneath her. She attempted to stab him with her katana, but a kick from his booted foot sent it flying from her hands, landing uselessly beside Himura's prone figure. A gloved hand knotted in her hair, jerking her head back to meet the enraged gaze of Makoto Shishio.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you, little panther!" he raged, jerking her head from side to side as though she were a rag doll. "We don't have time to play games right now. When I finish killing the Battousai for you and this little fight is over, we can play as long as you like. But _right now_, I don't have time to humor you."

_Time_.

_Not enough time._

As Shishio continued to rage at her, his words stroked at an old memory buried in Midori's mind. Something about fire. Something about time...

_Shishio, crawling through a field, flames licking at his body as his screams pierced the night._

_"How long have I been here, woman?"_

_"Six months."_

_The smell of burning flesh._

_"You're not going to die, Makoto Shishio. I have lowered your body's temperature enough that you need not fear having your blood boil. You should avoid strenuous activity; your life as a swordsman is over, unless you wish to kill yourself."_

_Strenuous activity raises the body's tempurature._

_Shishio has no sweat glands. His body cannot reduce it's own temputaure._

_He has no time._

Midori's head snapped forward at just the right angle to snap Makoto Shishio's nose like a twig. He screamed, releasing his hold on her hair so that he could cradle his now bleeding nose. Midori pushed herself up and flung herself towards her blade, rolling over Himura and coming to her feet again ready to fight.

Shishio's sweat glands had been burned off that night she had found him, ten years ago. His body no longer had the ability to reduce it's own temputature, which meant that once it started to rise, it would continue to do so. Once Shishio's body got hot enough, his blood would reach the point of evaportation, and then his skin would reach the burning point.

"Get on your feet, Himura!" Midori shouted as she vaulted over her most cherished person's body and threw herself at Shishio once again. "Get up and fight!"

She just needed to stall Shishio for as long a possible. With her many injuries, there was no chance in Hell that Midori would be able to kill Shishio with her blade. However...if she could just keep him fighting long enough...if Himura would get off his ass and help her to keep Shishio active and his body hot...

Makoto Shishio would spontaneously combust after fifteen, twenty minutes tops. All she had to do was stall until Himura pulled himself together. All she had to do was fight.

"Kenshin Himura," she yelled, even as she rolled painfully to avoid a fist to the head from Shishio. "Get up, Kenshin! Get up and help me!"

On the ground behind her, even as the echo of his name still filled the smoky air, Kenshin Himura's eyes blinked slowly. When they opened, they were no longer empty of life.

When they opened, for just the barest instant before indigo took over, Kenshin Himura's eyes burned a lethal, fiery amber.

* * *

_A/N: Please review. This should be one of the last chapters, as I'm fairly confident that I can wrap things up in two or three more. However, I still need feedback to know what my readers think. So, please continue reviewing._


	26. Chapter 25

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Chapter 25

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori was my idea.

* * *

Someone is calling to him.

"Himura."

The voice sounds garbled, as though the person carries water in their mouths even as they speak to him.

"Himura, get up, you baka. Get up right now. Stop this foolishness immediately."

Why is the person calling him a baka? No one ever calls him a baka anymore, not since he left his master's home. Well, Kaoru-dono has picked up the habit, but only when he has especially displeased her and she is attempting to beat him to death with her bokken. But nothing is hitting him here, although his body is crying in pain; besides, that was not Kaoru-dono's voice, and today is not laundry day.

He has the niggling sense that there is something important that he should be doing. Did he leave the miso on the stove? Did Kaoru-dono ask him to run some errand in town? And why is he so sore?

He can hear a voice yelling close by. The words are lost to him. He tries to open his eyes, turn his head, anything to locate the speaker and see why they are yelling. Perhaps Sanosuke and Yahiko are arguing again. He will have to calm them down before Kaoru-dono comes out, or they will all be in trouble.

But for some reason, his body is refusing to move at his command, and why can't he see anything when he is certain his eyes are open?

Perhaps Kaoru-dono was too harsh when she last struck him in the head? The girl does have a hell of a swing, after all.

"Appartently Kaoru-dono likes to strike first and ask questions later. Have you been giving her lessons, ninjin?"

Ninjin. No one has called him that since Midori died.

But why would he hear her asking about Kaoru-dono? The two never had the chance to meet...

Something heavy rolls over his body, a feat that normally would have produced an 'omph' of pain with his body as sore as it is. However, for whatever reason it appears that even such a small sound is currently beyond him.

The voice from earlier is shouting at him again. It is slightly less garbled, and sounds weirdly like Midori.

"Get on your feet, Himura! Get up and fight!"

He would be on his feet if he could move his body. And who is it exactly that he is to be fighting?

What is going on?

Something is not right. There is something that he is forgetting...something important.

"Kenshin Himura!"

His body flinches in surprise at that voice saying his first name. She sounds frantic, in pain. Where is she?

"Get up, Kenshin! Get up and help me!"

Slowly, with a large force of will, Kenshin forces his eyes to blink. When his eyes open again, he finds that he can see again. He is staring up at a smoky sky, flames dancing and disappearing at the edges of his vision. Pictures of memory flash before his eyes.

Midori showing up alive in Tokyo.

Midori getting used to being around him again, making friends with Sano and bearing the brunt of Kaoru-dono's odd behavior.

Sanosuke with a blade in his shoulder.

Kissing Midori after she says his name for the first time in ten years.

Midori running from him in tears.

Saito.

Midori in his gi, coughing blood into her hands.

Midori's empty room.

Saying goodbye to Kaoru-dono.

Meeting Shishio and breaking his sakabato against the boy Soujiro.

Midori reappearing and stabbing the man with the strange hair.

His training with Hiko.

Making love to Midori.

She is alive, he realizes as he pushes his sore body to his feet, noting with half an eye that his gi looks to be shredded beyond saving. That was Midori's voice he was hearing, begging him for help. He looks around slowly, his body not yet moving at the speed he would prefer.

She is there. Her black clothing sports many holes and slashes; she is favoring her right leg and seems to be moving sluggishly compared to her normal speeds when fighting. A trail of red blobs mark her progress around this arena they are in, and Kenshin realizes with a start that the red blobs are her blood.

His kabu. Bleeding.

Makoto Shishio, bandages slightly disrayed and nose seeping blood from both nostrils, lashes out with a gauntled fist. He catches Midori on the side of the head as she attempts to dodge the brunt of the blow, and she tumbles to the ground.

Kenshin sees red.

* * *

Midori's world spun on it's axis as Shishio's heavy hand struck the side of her head and she went down, pain screaming from too many places on her body to make sense of it all. She hit the ground hard, holding onto her _katana_ by sheer luck; she lay stunned as the world wove and tossed around her, Shishio's angry face dancing from the sky to her level and back again quickly enough to make her dizzy. Nausea rose and fell like the sea tides; the stickiness of blood coated too much of her flesh for her comfort.

Midori was beginnging to think that she might be in trouble.

A gauntled hand swooped down and fisted into the torn, bloody material of Midori's _gi_; her head lolled back for a moment as she was jerked into the air. Shishio held her above his head, glaring at her with his burning red eyes as blood from his broken nose dribbled over his snarling teeth and down his chin.

Summoning as much liquid into her own mouth as she could muster, Midori rocked her head towards him as she spat in his face; her bloody saliva struck him in the eye, blinding him momentarily. With a roar of animalistic rage, Shishio flung Midori away from him; she landed with a muted thud some distance away, leaving a trail of blood as she slid to a halt. The world before her eyes went completely black for a brief moment before sight returned; her ears were ringing shrilly and her body throbbed.

Midori dragged her legs into a kneeling position, deliberately ignoring the lancing pain in her right thigh. She must get up and continue fighting. She had to stall until Himura returned to his senses and could finish this. She didn't know how long Shishio had been active, didn't know how much longer it would be before his blood began to literally boil in his veins. They must keep him moving until then. She must keep him moving.

A hand caught at her wrist as she staggered again to her feet, pulling her offbalance and nearly sending her back to the ground. Another hand between her shoulder blades helped to steady her, and Midori looked shakily over her shoulder to see that the ninja Aoshi was trying to help her. She pulled against his hold, anxious to re-engage her opponent, but with her weakened body and the simply baffling way that the world was tilting under her feet, Aoshi was easily able to hold her in place.

"Stop," he cautioned her; Midori hazily noted that he appeared to be doing his best to restrain her without hurting her.

"I...can't st-stop," she rasped, pulling against his restraining grasp and stumbling when he wouldn't let go. "Have - have to keep him...moving. Can't let him...cool d-down again."

"The Battousai will keep Shishio occupied," the ninja reasoned, taking the wrist of her right hand - the fingers of which were still firmly wrapped around the hilt of her _katana_ - in one of his and helping her to fully rise. He did not release her once they had gained their feet, as though leery of the chances that she would dash back into battle. He merely nodded his head in the direction behind her, and then slowly helped her to turn around.

Himura was standing. Himura had his _sakabato_ grasped firmly in a white-knuckled grip.

Himura was giving Shishio a glare so lethal that it was a wonder that Shishio had not already combusted.

Midori tried to go to him, but again Aoshi held her back. She turned to look at him, a mutinous light in her eyes, but he merely shook his head, holding her steady with gentle but firm hands on the skin just above her elbows.

"Wait," he whispered, his eyes on Himura. "Let the Battousai fight for now. You are in no condition to help him."

Midori could hardly argue the point when the sky and the ground continued to attempt to switch places on her, so she said nothing as Aoshi suppported her. She turned her eyes back to Himura, and found that he was staring at her with something like horror and something like fury cutting harsh lines across his thin face. She tried to smile at him, and that seemed to only futher infuriate him. His eyes harded into the lightest possible blue, and he turned the full force of his glare back to a waiting Shishio.

She wondered if Shishio could grasp the concept of just how much trouble that look meant for him.

Probably not, she decided; Shishio was grinning his manic grin, pleasure at the thought of a new opponent clear in his burning eyes.

"Back for round two, Battousai?" he jeered, bringing the blade of his _katana_ close to his mouth. His eyes flickered to Midori as he licked a swath of her blood clean from the weapon, grin still in place.

"Perhaps," he drawled, his gaze swinging back to Himura as he took a step forward, "we can call this a courting duel, eh, Battousai? The one still standing at the end claims our dear panther's heart. How about it?"

Himura said nothing. His knuckles popped from the force of his grip on his weapon, and the muscles in his shoulders and back shifted visibly under his skin. His knees bent, and he levered his weapon at Shishio with the clear intention of attacking. Shishio seemed unconcerned, laughing insanely at the notion of his challenge.

Himura vanished.

An instant later, Shishio was flying backwards, colliding with the wall around the arena hard enough to crumple it. Bricks and dust rained down upon him, hiding his body from view and billowing out into the arena itself.

Midori stared at Himura where he knelt, leaning on his _sakabato_ for support and panting heavily. Her mind sluggishly attempted to process what had just happened. Even in her weakened state, her eyes had caught all _five_ of the blows that Himura's attack had just landed on Shishio. Five hits with _one single attack_. How had he learned such a devastating move? When had he learned it? Midori's mind flew back to the time spent with Himura's arrogant ass of a master; apparently the old man wasn't as uselessly cruel as Midori had thought. Those beatings he had heaped upon Himura had apparently paid off.

She could hear the whore Yumi calling frantically for her lord. No answer was forthcoming

Momentarily forgetting that she was restrained, Midori attempted to step towards Himura, thinking to help him stand. Aoshi, however, apparently had no intention of releasing her; she struggled fruitlessly against his hold.

"Let me go, ninja," she hissed, yanking against him in spite of the pain her movements brought to her body. When no reply was forthcoming and she was not released, Midori eyed the man over her shoulder. His gaze was not on her; it was fixed on the pile of rubble under which Shishio was currently buried. His lips were pressed into a tight, thin line that had Midori's head swinging around to look at the rubble, too; no way was that look on a ninja's face a good thing.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Midori could feel the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end from the thick tension that seemed to swirl in the air around her. The slight breeze that had previously been wafting through the arena vanished; all noise seemed to stop abruptly. To Midori, it felt as though the world were holding it's breath in anticipation.

The rubble began to shift.

In a heartbeat Midori had twisted at the shoulders and leapt over the ninja's right arm, crouching on her haunches and pulling Aoshi's arms at an extreme angle so that he had no choice but to release her. Even as Aoshi attempted to grab her again - even as the rubble fell aside and Makoto Shishio rose from the pile like a phoenix being reborn from it's own ashes, his red eyes glowing near purple with hate and insanity - Midori was shooting across the arena like a bullet, with every intention of putting herself in between Himura and the madman who was radiating his intent to kill.

Something barreled into her from the side, knocking her offbalance and sending her flying to the ground with a hiss of pain. She had barely hit the earth again before she was attempting to regain her footing, scrambling to rise again; but the arms wrapped tightly around her torso and the heavy press of a body against her back deterred her from her goal.

"Stop it, _aibou_! Ow, no, don't kick me you crazy woman! Calm down already!"

Midori paused for a moment as the voice of Sanosuke pierced the haze around her brain. She registered that he was pinning her arms to her chest with his bear-hug from the side; she registered that he was struggling to avoid a number of painful kicks from her uninjured leg and keep her down at the same time. She acknowledged the fact that Sanosuke would never intentionally try to hurt her, and that he must think it was better for her safety if he kept her from returning to the fight.

And then she realized that she didn't give a shit _why_ he was restraining her. The point was that he was keeping her from reaching Himura, who had by this time regained his feet, sheathed his _sakabato_, and taken the battoujutsu stance while facing Shishio. The stupid fool was going to try to attack Shishio head-on, and Midori was _not_ going to lay there quietly and possibly watch him die. She _refused_.

She kicked and struggled furiously against the heavy weight of Sanosuke's body; tried to wiggled from his iron hug; tried to headbutt him in hopes that he would release her due to the pain. But still Sanosuke held her fast, his body tensed against her blows.

Himura let out an inarticulate yell of rage, followed shortly by an insane howl from Shishio; Midori's head snapped up just in time to watch as Himura drew his blade - which vanished for an instant from the sheer speed of the draw - and attempted to strike Shishio, only for Shishio to barely counter with his own blade, stopping and then redirecting the attack. Himura was pushed away from the force of Shishio's counter, forced to pivot as though to strike again. Shishio let out a triumphant scream as he dragged his oil-soaked blade across his powder-filled gauntlet, igniting the blade in an awesome swirl of flames. The flaming weapon rose high into the air, as Shishio raised it over his head to strike the killing blow -

And Shishio stumbled.

For no reason that Midori's eyes could catch, Makoto Shishio wavered and stumbled for only a moment.

A moment was all that was needed for Himura to finish his pivot and bring his _sakabato_ hard against Shishio's side, smashing into his ribcage.

Even from where Midori lay, trapped beneath the weight of her friend Sanosuke and fighting to get up, she could here the sound of Shishio's ribs shattering under the force of the blow. She watched, as though time were slowing down for her pursual, as Shishio was lifted into the air and flung to the side; she watched as a foutain of blood issued from his mouth along with his pained scream; she watched as he fell hard to the arena floor, and did not immediately move again.

Himura dropped to one knee where he had stopped, his blade dug into the ground and used as a prop to keep him from face-planting in exhaustion. Blood from an earlier wound coated the side of his face, and Midori could see that his limbs were trembling faintly from the strain he had put them through. He looked close to passing out.

Sanosuke's hold on her had loosened significantly - no doubt he had also watched Himura's attack, and was so focused on Himura that he forgot what he was doing. Midori used this to her advantage, wretching out of his grip and rolling to her feet. She heard Sanosuke call something as she stumbled towards Himura, but disregarded his words as unimportant. The only thing that was important was that she get to Himura.

He reached out a hand to her as she came to a halt at his side. Midori took it in hers, unnerved by the tremors that shook Himura and the unnatural paleness of his skin. She wondered if she looked as bad as Himura did.

"_Kabu_," he whispered softly, his voice as strong as it ever was despite the apparent weakness in his body.

"_Ninjin_," she rasped back, and then winced; she sounded like shit. It figured.

"Are you alright?"

As glad as she was that the fight was over and her _ninjin_ was safe, she wanted to smack him for the stupidity of his question. Perhaps the heat and loss of blood were affecting his thought process? She ignored the idiotic question and chose instead to wrap her free arm around his back, careful not to cut him with the _katana_ she still clutched. On further thought, she released the _katana_ and let it fall to the arena floor. Getting Himura on his feet was more important at the moment than holding onto a weapon she didn't need right now. Gently she aided Himura in standing, holding tightly to his shoulder as they both wavered on their feet.

A growl from behind froze them in their tracks, and froze the blood in Midori's veins.

Turning quickly, the two fighters watched in shock as Makoto Shishio struggled again to his feet, saliva dripping from his mouth as though he were a rabid animal instead of a human being. He was glaring fiercely at them, hate and fury etched into the lines of his face as he forced his body to straighten.

And then a red haze began rising from his battered body, and Makoto Shishio let out a scream of pure agony.

His time limit had been reached, and his blood had begun to boil.

Shishio dropped the _katana_ that had been gripped tightly in his hand and began clawing at his skin, still keening a high-pitched wail of unimaginable pain. He dropped to his knees in the red cloud of his slowly evaporating blood, wailing; his eyes were white with shock and pain.

Midori watched him with a grim satisfaction. It should be truly over now. No way could Shishio cool off enough in time to stop his own demise. In a few more minutes, Shishio would be a flaming carcass on the ground before them; and Midori was counting the seconds. Neither she nor Himura was in any condition to continue fighting, and it was only through sheer luck that they had held out as long as they had. But now it was over.

Finally.

From the corner of her eye as she bent slowly to retrieve her _katana_, most of her attention focused on the screaming man before her, Midori registered something red moving quickly towards them. She lurched upright again, turning ready to protect Himura; she stumbled from exhaustion, pain, and unadultrated shock as the whore Yumi threw herself in front of Shishio, flinging her arms out as though to shield her lord from their eyes.

"Please!" she cried out, tears shimmering in her lavendar eyes. "Please, Himura-san, have mercy! Shishio-sama cannot fight for longer than fifteen minutes, and he has already passed that marker! Please, he cannot fight any longer! Show mercy, I beg you!"

Midori cut her eyes to Himura; he was staring at Yumi, plainly shocked by her actions and her words. His _sakabato_, which he had raised in preparation to defend himself, lowered a fraction as she watched.

Midori said nothing. It didn't matter if Himura was planning to be insanely forgiving; whether he intended to let Shishio live or not, the bastard would hopefully be dead in the next few minutes. Midori turned her eyes back to Shishio, intent on watching every second of his demise to insure that he really did finally stay dead. She would not allow the uncertainty of his fate to haunt her forever.

It was in that moment, where Himura was distracted by Yumi and Midori was studying Shishio, that Midori observed Shishio's _katana_ snap up as he lifted it in preparations to stab. With no time to say a word or to ponder Shishio's intentions, Midori flung her body sideways in between Himura and Yumi.

Shishio's _katana_ stabbed through Yumi's chest and entered Midori's, the blade piercing Midori's heart and poking out of her back for a long moment before it was withdrawn. Himura caught Midori reflexively as her now limp body fell backwards, a thick river of blood visible through her gi as it poured from the hole in her chest. The world swam darkly around her. Her _katana_ fell once again from her numb fingers.

Distantly, Midori thought that she heard Shishio's snarling voice.

"Oh, well, Battousai. If I can't have her, no one will."

* * *

_The woman who was once known as Zetsumei Kurohyou lies in the arms of the one she loves and wonders if she is going to die._

_Blood seeps from the deep wound in the center of her chest, flanked by two scars that flared angrily on her skin. Her senses are leaving her even as she fights to remain awake: she can no longer feel the arms around her waist or the warm body against which she is propped. She can only faintly taste the coppery blood that she knows coats her tongue. The sounds around her are distant; the voice that is repeatedly calling her name already sounds so far away._

_Her sight, however, is as sharp as it ever has been. The face of her beloved fills the entirety of her vision as his tears and blood mingle and drip onto her own face. She can see his lips moving even as the sound of his voice fades to a slight irritation in her ears. Her eyes are closing now; the end is almost upon her. The woman's mind begins to drift._

_Her blood is gushing from the wound in her chest as the man she loves clings to her, his voice desperate in her ear. He is angry; he is afraid; he is frantically worried for her. He is a notorious hitokiri; he already knows that no one survives a wound like hers. But he is a man who has found something he holds as precious; he cannot make himself accept the fact that his precious thing is about to die._

_Somewhere nearby is her spiky-haired friend. It was through him that her beloved was brought back into her life. His laidback attitude, his casual acceptance of her faults and the horrors of her past have helped the woman to change from the cold, broken wreck she had been for so long back to the person she had been before betrayal and heartbreak had wrenched a hole in her heart long before a blade finally pierced it. The woman's friend has helped her to heal; now she will not have the chance to properly thank him. She owes him much; now she will leave her debt unpaid._

_Somewhere nearby is the police officer whom she hates with a passion that brands her soul. This is the man who killed her beloved master; who propelled her into the life she has lived for so long; whose actions set her upon the road to bloodshed. This is the man against whom she has sworn an oath of vengeance. Now she will not have the opportunity to resend that oath – or to fulfill it._

_And somewhere nearby is a man who is a monster in disguise – the insane killer who has claimed to love her, and has now driving his blade through her heart. She feels disgust at the thought of this man; disgust and self-hatred at the remembrance of what he has done to her in the time they have become reacquainted. Even now, as her life slips away from her courtesy of the monster's katana edge, she can feel the ghosts of his hands on her skin. Even now, as her face is spattered with his blood, his whore's blood, and her own blood, she can taste his madness on her tongue. His obsession with her has frightened her; it has overwhelmed her with its intensity. As he himself cradles the dying body of a woman who loves him – a woman he has surely killed as well – his madness claws at the woman's skin like physical hands grasping at her. Now his own actions will take the object of his obsession away from him forever._

_The vision behind the woman's closed eyelids becomes peaceful as she feels herself sinking deeper into the blackness that calls to her. A faint grin flits across her bloodstained lips as she sighs, unmindful of the arms that tighten around her physical shell; unheeding of the voice that desperately calls for her. Peace fills her as the vision plays out in her mind._

_She sees the man she loves with all of her tainted heart and soul. She sees her spiky-haired friend beside him, fishbone firmly clenched between his teeth as a grin lights up his face. She sees a young boy with a wooden bokken tied onto his back, his arms waving through the air as he shouts obscenities as the taller man. She sees a girl poised on the brink of womanhood, who walks beside her beloved and offers a gentle smile at the little boy's antics. They are all walking towards a familiar dojo. They are all smiling; they are all whole._

_The woman watches as the figures she has come to care for slowly move away from her and knows that they will be alright without her. The girl will take care of her beloved as she promised, and the young one and her friend will help him find the peace he so desperately deserves. They will live and laugh and love and grieve together; and they will be happy._

_As the world around her fades and begins to go dark, the figure of her beloved turns suddenly to face her. As one, the other three turn as well. There are tears on their faces. The smiles of before are gone._

_As one, they all lift their arms and reach out…for her._

_The lips of her beloved are moving. As the others begin to fade into the surrounding blackness, as he begins to grow dark, words float to her in the void. Words from the lips of the one she loves…_

_"Kabu…come back to me…"_

_A sigh escapes her as all fades to black: one word that she cherishes more than her own life is whispered for the eager ears of the man who returns her love._

_"Kenshin…"_

* * *

A/N: Please review.


	27. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori was my idea.

* * *

_Saito assumes that it is a good thing that no one is looking at him at the moment. Judging by the unholy glee currently filling him as he watches Makoto Shishio burn to death, it is safe to assume that Saito is currently grinning quite cruely. The last thing he needs is for some nosey rooster-headed moron to see his face and start ruining his good mood. His glee might be misunderstood as pleasure that the youma has apparently died in the Battousai's arms, and the insuing explosion of anger would be inconvenient to his good mood._

_Contrary to popular belief, Saito is not a completely heartless bastard._

_The well-charred body of Shishio lies beside that of his whore, a woman the maniac killed with his own blade in the pursuit of his prey. Clearly those two had a screwed up relationship, if Shishio could stab her fatally one minute and profess to love and understand her in the next. Saito wonders what the whore thought of the youma, and then dismisses the thought. It doesn't matter now, anyway. They are both dead, as is Shishio, and this pain-in-the-ass assignment is finally over. Thank the gods._

_That fool politician goes running by, knocking hard into Himura and causing him to drop the youma's body as he collapses into the rooster's arms. The politician disappears, screaming some nonsense about Shishio and victory and killing them all. Sagara juggles the Battousai's now unconscious body as he looks from the youma's body to Shinomori to Saito, clearly muddling something over in that empty head of his._

_"Uh...Saito?" he calls, swinging one of the Battousai's arms over his shoulders and placing one of his own arms across the Battousai's back. "Could you...you know, maybe give me a hand and...carry her?"_

_Here he gestures to the ghost's body, as though there is another 'her' in the vicinity that isn't currently a burned-out husk._

_Saito pretends to consider the matter, in too good a mood to care much when Sagara bristles at his contemplative expression. He supposes it wouldn't hurt to carry the woman's body out of the compound. He can dump it with Himura and the idiot at the Aoi-Ya and then leave. He strides forward, stooping first to pick up the woman's katana and loop it securely through one of his belt loops; he hauls the woman into his arms with only the slightest grimance as the new weight registers in his legs. To his surprise, the woman is still breathing. It is shallow, and rattles harshly in her mangled chest, but for the moment she is still alive._

_Saito decides to keep this information to himself. There is a very good chance that she will die before they reach the Aoi-Ya, and he doesn't want to listen to everyone bitch at him if she dies while he's carting her around. Let them think she was dead before he touched her._

_Shinomori takes the lead, guiding them down those damnable stairs as Sagara stumps along behind him with Himura. Saito brings up the rear with the woman; it is lucky that she is so thin, or his legs might be giving him more of a problem with her weight and the stairs irritating his wounds. Considering it's the damn youma's fault he is wounded in the first place, she can count herself lucky that Saito is being so nice and carting her ass around like this in the first place._

_Around the time he has that thought, their disfunctional little group reaches the bottom of the stairs and the ground shakes with some not-so-far-off explosion. The towers around them, those that spat fire to the sky as Shishio and the Battousai and the youma battled, are now gushing flames that seem to pour down the metal. A burst of fire shoots into the air from the ground just behind Saito; it is joined by another burst, and another, until the stairs down which they have just come are engulfed in angry heat._

_"We must move quickly," Shinomori calls as more flames jump from the ground around them; it is as if the earth has absorbed Shishio's fire and is now spitting it back at them in defiance. "This place will burn, and we will burn with it if we do not make it to the exit soon."_

_No shit. Saito would never have guessed such a thing._

_The compound is already on fire. They run through the rooms in which they fought as flames lick their way up the walls. They are not impeded in their retreat; there is no sign of the smiling boy, the monk, or that stupid politician. Saito does not care enough to waste his time wondering about them. He simply notices that they are nowhere to be seen, tightens his hold on the youma's limp form, and tries not to step on the back of Sagara's feet as they run._

_They reach the bridge Shishio's whore had led them across earlier. Fire is roaring into the air in great pillars; the heat rises in waves with the flames. The stone bridge looks to be crumpling from the heat; poor construction, to Saito's critical eye. But he does not have the time to admire the stone work. He yells at the rooster to hurry up. They do not have much time._

_They almost make it. Saito stares across the gaping hole that now separates himself and the youma from Sagara, Shinomori, and the Battousai. The shot of flames that just created that hole caught the youma's sleeve afire; Saito mutters curses to himself as he bats out the flames. He is trying to judge the distance when the rooster pushes the Battousai at Shinomori and turns back around to face Saito._

_"Saito! Jump, you bastard! Come on, jump!"_

_Saito glares at the foolish brat, wondering if he can shift the youma enough to get himself a cigarrett. Jump? Did the moron not notice the deep gashes in Saito's legs? He wasn't jumping anywhere for a while._

_He sighs, juggling the youma until she rests more comfortably in his arms. "I gave Shinomori a map. Just follow him, you moron. He'll get you out of this place."_

_Having nothing else to say, Saito turns to start walking in the opposite direction. He ignores the rooster's taunts and then his scream of Saito's name, just as easily as he ignores the rising heat and the weight in his arms. He hadn't quite planned on being saddled with the youma, but he supposes that he can manage. Like hell is Saito going to let himself die here._

_He's had more than enough of this damn place._

* * *

"Ya cain't make me take care of that woman, boss! She's fuckin' crazy as a loon! She stabbed me!"

Cho almost quailed under the look his new boss was giving him. Almost. But then he looked past Hajime Saito to the figure of the woman lying unconscious in the bed by the window, and immediately started shaking his head again. No way was he going near that psycho woman. He didn't care if she was almost dead or if she was knocked out at the moment. He didn't want to be in the same fucking building as her when the crazy woman woke up.

"Aw, c'mon boss! I cain't be around when that bitch wakes up! She'll kill me!"

His new boss pinched the bridge of his nose, as though Cho was pushing him to the last of his endurance. Cho shut up immediately. He had only been working for the police for a couple of days, and he had already been warned by about half the damn force that it was a really, **_really_** stupid idea to push Saito to the end of his patience.

"Listen, you broom-headed imbecile. I don't care what you want. I don't care how scared of this woman you are. I don't give a damn if she tears your stupid head off of your shoulders as soon as she wakes up. I'm not requesting a damn thing from you, Cho; I am _ordering_ you to take care of this woman until she kills you or is well enough to leave. If I find out that you shirked in this duty that I am so nicely giving you, you'll go back to jail with my foot lodged in your ass. Do I make myself clear?"

Gods-damn-it, how the hell did Cho always end up in these situations?

* * *

Midori wondered for a brief moment if she were dead. It was dark, and quiet, and she couldn't really feel her body. Was that what death felt like? Or was she just asleep, about to get bombarded by the voices of the dead again? She waited cautiously for the shouting, but when none came, Midori attempted to move her body.

Bad idea.

Now she felt _everything_.

Her body felt as if she had been run over by a cart, or one of those steam locomotives that she had heard rumors about. Every muscle seemed to be cursing her visciously and begging her for mercy all at the same time. She quickly came to the decision that she would rather not move. She would just lie here, wherever she was at the moment, and hope no one came up and poked her. She might die from the pain.

"Cho-san, the lady moved just now. Do you think we should inform Saito-sama?"

She flinched involuntarily at the sound of the voice so close to her, and then let slip a pained groan from her body's reaction to that movement. Someone's hand touched her face, and she instinctively jerked away with a louder groan. Damn, moving hurt. Moving really, _really_ hurt.

"Looks laike the bitch's finally wakin' up. Yeah, go tell the boss. He'll be relieved that we'll finally get rid'a her."

The sound of footsteps moved away from her. A door opened and closed.

"Can ya hear me, ya back-stabbin' bitch? Open those weird eyes if ya can."

Slowly, pausing to squint when the light hit her pupils, Midori opened her eyes a crack to see who was so rudely speaking to her. Her eyes met the gaze of someone she had most assuredly not expected to see again. She sat bolt upright, stumbling out of the bed she had previously occupied and attempting to put some room in between herself and the broom-haired figure of Cho Sawagejo. Where the hell had _he_ come from?

He made no attempt to close the space between them when Midori's back made contact with the wall. He simply sat on the bed Midori had just vacated and proceeded to stare murderously at her, muttering words under his breath. Midori leaned heavily against the wall, shocked when her bare legs came into contact with the cool wood. Looking down, she was horrified to find that she was clad only in a thin white sleeping _yukata_; her arms were bared to the elbow, and her legs from the mid-thigh. The brand scars that marred the flesh of her legs were on display for all to see.

Midori felt as though she were naked.

She also felt as though she were on the verge of passing out. Her quick retreat across the room had completely drained her; she remained on her feet only because she was propped up against the wall. She prayed that the gods show her mercy; surely they would not be so cruel as to cause her to collapse in front of this man, whom she had once stabbed in the diaphragm? Midori had the distinct feeling that he would derive great pleasure from seeing her on the ground before his feet, and she wasn't sure that her tattered pride could handle such a blow.

A door on the wall to her right suddenly swung open, startling Midori and sending her sliding away along the wall she was leaning against. She watched with mounting unease as Saito strolled in and shut the door behind him, caging Midori in the room with two people who might or might not want to kill her. Her money was on 'might'.

She wished desperately for Himura.

Saito scowled at her briefly, before turning the full force of his glare at the seated figure of Cho. Cho was quick to get to his feet at that look, and Midori got the distinct impression that Cho was afraid of Saito. She could sympathize.

"What the hell is she doing out of bed?" Saito demanded, sounding irritated at the inconveniance.

"I don' know! She woke up, took a look at me, an' jumped outa that bed laike a bunch'a demons was after her! What was I supposed ta do, tackle her?" Cho sounded pissed and scared at the same time; Midori marveled that he was more afraid of Saito than he had been of Shishio.

"Well, don't just stand there, you idiot. Go out and get her some soup or something. Now."

Cho didn't hesitate. He made a beeline for the door, pausing only long enough to open it and give Midori a dirty look before disappearing as he closed it.

"Can you walk back over here, _youma_, or am I going to have to help you?" Saito sounded just as unhappy about the prospect of carrying Midori as Midori felt about being carried by him. She'd rather crawl.

Luckly she wasn't reduced to such embarrassment. She managed to stumble back over to the bed, where she sat as far from Saito as possible and scooted back until she rested against the wall. Midori was quick to jerk the sheet to her, draping it over her stretched out and exposed legs in an automatic attempt to hide the scarring. Saito paid her no mind; he was preoccupied with lighting the cigarrett that he had pulled from somewhere on his person. When it was smoking and he was puffing on it contently, Midori decided it should be safe to start asking questions.

"Where the hell are my clothes?" That was the most important thing, right there. She wanted her concealing _hakama_ and her long-sleeved _gi_ back _right now_. She clutched the sheet tightly in her hands as she stared at the bastard of a police officer. He regarded her with a bored eye for a moment before going back to his cigarrett.

"Your clothes were soaked with blood, burned in places, slashed near to ribbons, and altogether beyond saving. I had some of the men go out and get you replacements - in black, since you seem to prefer that color - and you can have them once the doctor that's been patching you up says that you won't bleed all over them."

"Where are we? How long have I been here?" Questions were popping into her head faster than she could put them into words.

"You're in one of the barracks for the police force of Kyoto; we commandeered an empty room for your use as long as you need it. You've been here for nearly two months."

That quieted her. Two months? The last thing she could remember was getting stabbed after she pushed Himura out of the way and Shishio stabbed her through that whore Yumi. That was two months ago?

Saito blithely continued talking; he didn't seem to care whether or not she had time to process the information she was being given.

"Shishio's dead. He burned to death when his body tempurature rose too high. That stupid politician that followed him everywhere decided to set off the boiler in that compound, which means that the compound completely burned as well. You were unconscious, as was the Battousai. That idiot rooster Sagara carted the Battousai out of the compound while I hauled you. We were seperated from the Battousai, Sagara, and Shinomori before we could completely exit the compound, and I had to get us out on my own. That doesn't bother me in the least; I have no further business with the rooster or the ninja, and the Battousai was in no condition for us to settle the score between us. I'll have to look him up some other time.

"The point, _youma_, is that your little group of flunkies currently thinks that you are dead. The Battousai recovered weeks ago, and he went back to Tokyo with Sagara, the Kamiya girl, that bratty child that follows them around, and the doctor woman Takani who came to Kyoto to tend to the Battousai's injuries. They left last week."

Having said this, Saito leaned over the bed to flick his spent cigarrett out of the open window. He immediately began searching his pockets for a fresh one, leaving Midori a moment to try to process what he had just told her. Shishio had combusted, as per her hopes. Saito had carried her to safety, even after becoming seperated from her friends and the ninja Shinomori. She had been unconscious for the last two months, during which time Saito had apparently had her cared for - she was having a little trouble wrapping her head around that notion. Himura was alive, well, and back in Tokyo with his friends.

Crisis averted.

"Cho?" she croaked, wincing at the sound that issued from her raw throat. She would have killed for some water.

"Now in the employ of the Japanese police." Saito grinned, a decidedly frightening sight. "Most of the Juppongatana made deals with the Meiji to keep out of prison. The monk is in jail, that annoying boy that constantly smiled is missing, and that stupid politician is dead."

Midori made no reply, and they were each silent for a long time. Midori had much to think about. Shishio was dead; he would no longer hound her steps with his mad obsession. Himura was safe, and among people who cared for him. The Juppongatana had been neutralized. She needed to decide what she was going to do now. She needed to figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her life, now that Shishio was behind her and Himura thought her dead.

She had no idea what Saito was thinking. Probably planning to torture small animals, or thinking of creative ways to scare the shit out of Cho. The man was evil incarnet, after all.

On that note, the door to the room banged open again; Midori flinched slightly at the noise as the door smacked loudly against the wall and Cho barged in, stomping across the room with a tray in his hands. She eyed him warily as he came towards her, half expecting him to dump whatever was on the tray over her head. He looked to be contemplating such an act, but one glance from Saito had Cho carefully setting the tray in Midori's lap before quickly backing off.

"The doc's on the way up, boss," he muttered, backing to the far wall and leaning against it with his arms folded across his chest.

The hilts sticking up over his back brought another important question to Midori's mind, and she turned her gaze back to Saito.

"Where is my _katana_?" she asked hoarsely.

"Planning on using it soon, are you, _youma_?" Saito sneered faintly, his cold eyes cutting to Cho briefly. Midori found herself repressing the insane urge to grin at the sputtering mumbles coming from the broom-haired man.

"I don't need a blade to kill, Saito," she informed him as she picked up the chopsticks lying on her tray and examined the bowl of ramen that wafted steam into her face. "But I promise that I will not kill anyone if you return my _katana_ to me. There will be no need for Cho to cower like a frightened child unless he is around you."

A gray-haired man carrying a large bag entered the room before Cho could say anything. Midori slowly consumed the ramen, pausing often to still her trembling hands, as Saito spoke to the newcomer in a low voice. Midori guessed that this man was the doctor, and studied him carefully as she drank the last of the broth in her bowl and set her tray aside. Seeing that she was finished, the man stepped up to the bed, bowing politely to her.

"May I examine you, _okami_?"

Midori's eyes shift from the doctor to Saito to Cho and back. He wanted her to disrobe in front of the other two?

Like hell.

Apparently, something of her thoughts was visible on her face. Saito barked at Cho to get out, and waited until the broom-haired man had made a hurried exit before going out after him and closing the door behind them both.

Midori shed the sheet and the _yukata_ with little thought. She was too busy wondering who had killed Saito and made an agreeable, almost pleasant double of the bastard. Had Saito actually been polite to her today?

Praise the gods. Miracles _did_ exist.

* * *

"When are you leaving, _youma_?"

Midori looked up from where she sat on the bed, her sheathed _katana_ resting in her lap. The sheath that she had inheritate from her master had been lost in the fire that consumed Shishio's compound. The police had apparently commisioned the making of a new one for her; it was just as well made as the old one, and was as black as the new clothing she was wearing. Her other new sets of clothing were packed away in her satchel, leaning against the wall near the door.

She had gone to the Aoi-Ya the day before hoping to retrieve her satchel and the possessions it carried. The old man Okina had been shocked and most pleased to find that she was indeed alive; Midori had been forced to do some fast talking to keep him from immediately sending a message off to Tokyo, to let Himura know the good news. She had told the old man that she wanted to surprise Himura.

That hadn't been _quite_ honest.

The truth was Midori was torn as to whether or not she would return to Tokyo and go to Himura. Himura had said more than once that he loved her, but then turned around and babied her in battle as though she were incapable of defending herself. On top of that, the man had serious trust issues. How could she think of sharing the rest of her life with someone who refused to fully trust her, as he should? Why the hell would Himura question her, anyway? When had Midori ever betrayed Himura? If anything, _she_ should be leery of trusting _him_. The man had tried to kill her once, after all, even though they had been the best of friends at the time.

Perhaps it would be best if she did not return to him. Kaoru-dono would keep her promise and take care of him; Sanosuke and Yahiko, and possibly the lady doctor, would help her to aid Himura in healing from his loss of Midori. Perhaps one day he might even develope feelings for the Kamiya girl; perhaps one day he would forget Midori.

But what if he didn't? What if Himura could not overcome his grief, and sunk beneath the weight of his depression because he believed that Midori was dead and lost to him forever? Could Midori live with that possibility?

"I have a question I've been wanting to ask you." Saito's voice pulled Midori from her thoughts, and she focused on his figure leaning against the door frame. "I meant to ask when you finally woke up, but have not had the opportunity."

Midori raised an eyebrow at him, inviting him to ask his question.

"What is the name of your techique?"

He tried to make it seem as though he didn't really give a damn what the answer was, using the same bored tone he always used. However, Midori had spent too much time in the man's company recently - given that she had been awake and healing for close to a month now, and the bastard wolf refused to allow her to leave the police barracks without the pleasure of his company - to miss the gleam of interest in his cold yellow eyes.

"It has no name," she answered softly, her hands clenching and unclenching around the new sheath that guarded her _katana_. "My master created the technique, but could not think of a name. He died before he could name it."

Saito eyed her warily, as though expecting her to jump up and begin attacking him now that they were on the subject of her Myoushu and his death by Saito's hand. Midori remained seated on the bed. She did not wish to attack Saito. The angry, burning need for revenge - the fire that had driven her for so long to slay her master's killer and claim her blood debt - was gone. She felt nothing around Saito except a vague annoyance at being in the arrogant jerk's presence so often.

"You know, it was my lieutenant who gave me the idea to call you _'youma'_," Saito informed her after a long pause. Midori's other eyebrow joined it's brethren on it's climb to her hairline in question.

"You killed two full squads of Shinsingumi once, but left my lieutenant alive for some foolish reason. He told me that you moved with such speed and grace that it seemed as if you were floating from victim to victim. He told me that the blades of his men and the others seemed to pass right through you, as though you were a blood-covered ghost and could not be harmed by mere men.

"Have you ever considered, _youma_, that the fact that you are still alive after everything you have been involved in has as much to do with divine intervention as it does your own formidible skills?"

Saito stooped sideways and picked up Midori's satchel, tossing it to her as she rose from the bed. He waited until she had fixed her _katana_ across her back and slung the satchel over her shoulder before leading the way out of the barracks. The men they encountered shied away from them, partly because they were all terrified of Saito and partly because they were uneasy around her. None of them would look at her face.

The two killers paused on the street outside of the barracks. There was no one about; the hour was late, close to midnight. Midori glanced once more at Saito, saw that he was watching her with a piercing look in his cold yellow eyes. Midori looked away.

"_Sayonara_, Hajime Saito."

Saito made no reply, and Midori began to walk down the deserted street.

She had only made it past three or four buildings when she felt the grip of Saito's hand at her elbow, drawing her to a stop. Midori said nothing, merely waited to hear what Saito had to say.

"You are a damned fool, Midori."

Midori registered that this was the first time that Saito had used her given name.

"The name for your precious techique is clear, just as your next destination should be clear. When you pull your head out of your ass and figure out the obvious, let me know. And tell the Battousai that I will call on him in the future so that we can settle the score between us."

Without waiting for any form of a reply, Saito released her arm and stalked back the way he had come. Midori stared after him for a long moment before a grin split her face. So he thought to have the last word, did he?

"_Tenrai dageki taishite ikazuchi_-_kurohyou_," she called after him, unsurprised when he ignored her and kept walking. "Does that meet with your approval, you grouchy old bastard of a wolf?"

He continued to ignore her, but Midori was sure that he had heard her words, and that was more than satisfactory enough for her.

With the new name of her technique still echoing in the empty streets of Kyoto, Midori turned away from Saito's retreating form and started walking. She had somewhere to be.

There was a certain carrot-headed jackass that she needed to have a word with.

* * *

_A/N: One more chapter! Please review_.


	28. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin, but Midori was my idea.

* * *

__

He watches the road more often, now.

__

Kenshin knows that his habit of staring at the road past the Kamiya dojo's gate worries his friends. He sees it in the way that Sano will drag him off to have a game of dice over a few jugs of sake; he sees it in the way Yahiko will ask him to watch as the boy tries to perfect a new move; and he sees it in the way that Kaoru-dono looks at him when she thinks that he cannot see her. She looks at him as though any minute he will leave her again, and she is afraid that he might not say goodbye this time.

His friends watch him, and worry, and try to help him in their own ways; but they do not understand why he watches the road in the first place, and so they cannot help him at all.

He does not wish to leave his friends. He is done wandering. Kenshin watches the road - every day until midday and every night when his friends are sleeping - because he still harbors that faint hope that if he watches long enough...if he stays in front of the dojo's open gates long enough, in sight of all that pass...

Maybe, if he watches for her long enough, his kabu will wander back into his life, just like she did the last time.

He knows that he cannot say any of this to his friends. Yes, they care about him. Yes, his new habit and the fact that he rarely sleeps and the way his appetite is vanishing frighten them. Yes, they might possibly worry less if they knew that he is not going to leave them again. But he does not want to see the guilty look on Sano's face - the look of a man who thinks that he could have saved Saito, could have saved his kabu if he had just tried hard enough. He does not want to see the look on Yahiko's face when his kabu is mentioned - pained, because the boy knows that she was important to Kenshin and to Sano; but also slightly guilty, because he did not know her well enough to miss her like they do.

And he does not want to see the look on Kaoru-dono's face when she is reminded of his kabu: as though she wants to tell him something very important, but cannot for reasons she will not explain. He does not want to see the sliver of self-pity mixed with guilty hope in her blue eyes, or the self-disgust that follows and makes her turn away from him. He does not want to have to know that she still hopes, but not for what he hopes for.

He does not want to see any of that anymore. So he sits on the porch and watches the road, hoping that his kabu will come back to him.

When he is not watching the road for his kabu or trying not to scare his friends, Kenshin spends hours at the river; he found her there that day that Sanosuke was stabbed, so there is at least a fleeting chance that if his kabu survived she might come back here. She might be standing by the river today, waiting for him to take her in his arms and welcome her home. She might want them to have the chance for a private reunion before telling their friends that she is back. He cannot take that chance; he will go to the river every day for the rest of his life if he must, waiting for his kabu to come back to him.

It is late, and the road is empty. He stares without seeing as a breeze blows dust into the air. Kaoru-dono is asleep and the night is hot; Kenshin has shed his gi and sits in only his hakama. Beads of sweat roll down his body, tickling the skin between his shoulder blades. The porch boards creak; Sano is walking towards him. His friend sits beside him on the edge of the porch, and the two men share a quiet moment.

The quiet is not to last.

"You're scaring Jou-chan," Sano tells him; his friend's voice is soft, quiet, completely non-threatening. Kenshin feels his words like blows to his heated skin. He says nothing.

"She knows that you've been watching the road every night. You've barely eaten or slept for weeks now; you don't talk unless one of us pulls you into a conversation. You're listless, Kenshin, and all three of us are worried about you. Hell, Megumi told me yesterday when she came by that she wished she knew what was wrong with you, because you're so fucking thin she's afraid you might be sick."

Kenshin says nothing. Guilt eats at his insides at hearing his fears confirmed. He is causing his friends to worry for him. He is scaring Kaoru-dono.

Sano's bangdage-wrapped right hand comes down on Kenshin's shoulder, and the fist-fighter squeezes gently. "Talk to me, Kenshin."

Kenshin shakes his head. He cannot talk right now; the guilt is clogging his throat.

"Are you angry at me? Or jou-chan or the brat? Megumi?"

Kenshin shakes his head again. He hasn't felt anger since Shishio burst into flames.

"**Are** you sick?"

No response. Sick at heart is probably not what Sano is talking about.

"C'mon, Kenshin. You've been like this..."

Sano has trailed into silence beside him. Kenshin pulls his eyes away from the road long enough to shoot a glance at the younger man; Sano is staring towards the road too, and there appear to be tears in his eyes. Kenshin swallows, tries to ask Sano what is wrong. The words will not come around the growing lump in his throat. Sano takes a deep breath, squeezes Kenshin's shoulder again.

"You've been like this since you found out about Midori."

**Midori**. Her name stabs at him like a physical thing, and he hunches into himself in a futile attempt to avoid the pain lancing at his heart. Tears blur his vision, and he does his best to keep them from spilling. He will not cry. He will not let those tears that have burned at the backs of his eyes since his awakening in Kyoto months ago fall. If they fall, then what he learned when he awoke will become real. If they fall, he will no longer have any reason to watch the road or haunt the river shores.

If his tears fall, then his kabu will really be dead, and Kenshin cannot bear for that to happen.

Sano is speaking to him again, his hand gripping Kenshin's shoulder tight enough to bruise.

"...can't keep doing this to yourself, Kenshin. Do you think she would want you to make yourself sick? To starve your body and not sleep and turn into a fucking walking corpse?"

His kabu would be furious at him for his behavior. She would tell him in no uncertain terms just how stupid she thought he is acting, and force him to eat and to sleep and bar the gates of the dojo every night to block his view of the road. She would knock him out if she had to.

"Do you think you're the only one who misses her, you dumb bastard? Do you think that I don't see her every fucking time I close my eyes to sleep, that I don't remember watching that prick Saito walk away with her dead body in his arms? Do you think for a minute that I don't wish every fucking day that I had died instead of her? She may have loved you, Kenshin, but we were friends, too."

Sano is yelling at him now, his hand gone from Kenshin's shoulder. His friend is standing in front of him, blocking his view of the road, his hands fisted in anger as he shouts into the night.

"Damn it, Kenshin, I miss her too! I miss my friend! And I miss **you**, not this fucked up ghost of you but the real guy! I hate Shishio for killing Midori, I hate you for falling apart like this when **we need you, **and I hate Midori for fucking dying and leaving me with nothing but my fucking guilt and your fucking corpse! Because it's pretty fucking obvious that you're not home anymore!"

Kenshin has never seen Sano cry before, but now his friend is crying. Wet trails lead from his angry brown eyes to his chin, and he brings up a fist to rub furiously at his face. He takes several deep, steadying breaths as he tries to regain control of himself. Kenshin watches, and waits, and still he says nothing.

"You know what pisses me off the most?" Sano finally says, his voice worn and rough and so very, very tired. "The night before we all went to Mount Hiei, I heard Midori and Jou-chan talking at the Aoi-Ya. Midori was making Jou-chan promise to take care of you if anything happened to her. She went up there with every fucking intention of dying for you, and then threw herself in front of you so Shishio couldn't kill you, and you're wasting her sacrifice when **she died for you!**"

Kenshin feels as though he has been stabbed right through the heart. He gasps at the sudden pain, doubling over his knees and clutching at his chest as the tears break free from his tightly shut eyelids. The first few open the floodgates for the rest, and soon a veritable river of tears is pouring down his face. He draws in a breath and lets it out in a sob, and then he is lost. He buries his face in his knees and howls.

He is vaguely aware that Sano is shouting at him again, sounding panicked. At some point the voices of Kaoru-dono and Yahiko are raised in question, vying with Sano's for his attention as they ask what is wrong. He ignores them, howling his pain into his knees as tears wet his face and the worn fabric of his hakama. Hands touch his bare back, trying to sooth him; he jerks away from them, falling off the edge of the porch in the process. The hands are trying to help him, trying to pull him to his feet; he pulls free and runs, blindly, out of the gates and into the empty street. He runs from the voices and the hands and the concerned faces, still howling his pain for the world to hear.

He doesn't think of where he is going. He just runs.

* * *

Midori sat down at her table in the Akabeko with a pained sigh of relief. That doctor of Saito's had warned her that she would feel weak and get tired quickly for some months to come, and at the moment she felt ready to collapse. She had been walking since dawn, and it was after noon; she was tired and hungry and so, so thrilled. She had made it. It had taken two fucking months of walking as long as she could every day until her legs started shaking under her, but Midori had finally reached Tokyo.

Himura was here. The dojo was just a few minutes walk from where Midori now sat. She was so close.

"Um..._okami_?" The small girl who had seated her was back, balancing a cup and a jug of tea in her tiny hands. Midori quickly reached for the jug, before the tiny girl lost her grip on it and dropped it. She smiled politely at the girl, who ducked her head shyly as she set the cup on the low table.

"Your ramen will be out soon, _okami_," the girl murmured before backing up a few steps and turning away. A woman with long black hair ran into the girl, knocking her off of her feet. The woman gasped, and knelt as Midori moved to help the girl stand. The girl took Midori's proffered hand slowly, her cheeks red with embarrassment.

"_Arigato_," the girl whispered, sounding mortified. Midori had her suspisions that this little girl had not been working at the restaraunt for very long. She made sure the girl was steady on her feet before letting go and moving to sit at her table. It was only then that she remembered the woman, still kneeling on the floor with her hands outstretched to help the little girl. Midori turned to ask if the woman was alright, and that was when she saw the woman's face. Her eyes widened, and a smile pulled up one corner of her mouth.

"Megumi-san," she greeted the doctor, immensely pleased with her good fortune. The lady doctor was a friend to Himura. She could take Midori to the dojo, to lessen the shock of Midori's return. She opened her mouth to request the lady doctor's help, but the words never had the chance to leave her throat. In an instant Megumi was on her, the doctor's beautifully manicured fingers wrapped tightly around Midori's wrist and pulling her up and around as the Midori stumbled after the doctor.

"M-megumi-san, my meal," Midori stuttered out, having just enough time to grab up her _katana_ and her satchel of belongings before she was yanked out of reach of her table. Megumi dragged her towards the door, babbling quickly as they went.

"Oh, thank kami you are alive, Midori-san! Quick, come with me, we must tell Kaoru-chan and that idiot rooster, you have to help us find Ken-san, oh he'll be so happy to see you, this will be so good for him if we can just find him, he ran off two nights ago and no one's been able to find him, but we don't think he left the city because all of his things are still at the dojo, he didn't even take his _sakabato_, so surely he's somewhere in Tokyo, and now you're back, thank the gods, and you can help us, please Midori-san we have to find Ken-san!"

They were almost at the Kamiya dojo's gates by the time Megumi's words penetrated Midori's confusion. She dug her heels into the dirt street and yanked her wrist free of Megumi's grasp, stopping in the road and staring in horror at the doctor.

"Himura is...gone?" she whispered, denial flooding her. "He...left?"

"The other's can explain better, Midori-san, I wasn't here when he left!" Megumi practically yelled, her refined dignity completely absent as she again latched onto Midori's wrist and continued to drag her along. She began shouting for Sanosuke and Kaoru as soon as they passed within the dojo gates, pulling Midori in the direction of the living quarters. Midori stumbled along behind her, still trying to wrap her head around what Megumi had told her. Himura was gone, but had left all of his belongings at the dojo? Himura had taken off in the middle of the night merely two days past, with no explanation or word of farewell? But Midori didn't believe Himura would go anywhere without his blade, and Megumi said that he had not taken it with him.

Midori suddenly realized that her body was shaking. When Megumi released her to go search for Sanosuke and Kaoru, Midori sank down to sit on the edge of the porch, leaning heavily against one of the support beams with her eyes clenched shut. He was gone. Midori had walked all the way from Kyoto to Tokyo just to see Himura again, and now she arrived to be told that Himura was gone?

Why must Midori _always_ be Fate's bitch? Couldn't karma cut her just a little slack, damn it?

Suddenly there came a wild shout of joy from her left. Midori had barely begun to turn her head in that direction when she was swept up, off the porch and into someone's strong arms. Her satchel went flying, as did her _katana_. Midori hung limply from the tight grip as she was whirled around and around, laughter ringing joyfully in her ears as the person holding her bellowed her name for all to hear.

"You're back, you came back, you're alive! You're alive, thank kami, where the fuck have you been, Midori? You're back, you're back!"

The person currently crushing her set her down abruptly; Midori's already shaky knees buckled and she found herself clutching the man's forearms as she attempted to regain her balance. She glanced up with a sardonic grin to see Sanosuke's joyful face, his own lips stretched into a cheek-splitting smile. He drew her to him again, pinning her arms to her sides as he hugged her fiercely. Midori couldn't help a wince a the pressure.

"Stop it, you idiot! You're hurting her!" The shrill voice had Midori cringing even as she was pulled from Sanosuke's grip and crushed between thin arms. Black hair shone faintly blue in the sunlight as it whipped around Midori's face. A grunt escaped her lips, but with Sanosuke's happy shouting and the shrill voice trying to say something, no one heard it except Midori.

It took several long minutes for everyone to calm down and for Midori to shakily extract herself from Sanosuke's last bone-breaking hug. She sat down hard on the edge of the porch, breathing heavily and trying to keep her hands from shaking too much. Apparently the doctor-lady wasn't fooled; she shooed the hovering Sanosuke, Kaoru, and Yahiko out of the way and took Midori's wrist in her hand, pressing down on the pulse point and frowning at the excellerated beating. She put a cool hand to Midori's forehead, which Midori automatically removed as she tried to speak.

"Alright," she murmured weakly, weaving slightly where she sat; she felt like shit, actually, but there was no need for the doctor to know that. "Tired. Himura?"

Kaoru was crying, the tears streaming down her cheeks as she pressed a hand to her mouth. Yahiko had his eyes fixed pointedly at the ground, as though refusing to show his face in an attempt to hide the fact that he was upset. Sanosuke stared at Midori.

"He's gone, _aibou_," he muttered, running one hand through his weird hair. "He left two nights ago."

Midori's eyes blazed at him. She knew that; she needed to know more. Where did he go, why did he leave, was he sick, was he hurt? Her breath was coming in little pants and her head was swimming; Saito's doctor had told her that she would be in trouble if she overexerted herself, and all this excitement was not good for her right now.

"He's been acting off for weeks," Sanosuke was telling her. "He's been listless, sitting around staring at the gates for hours at a time, not eating hardly anything, not sleeping, not talking unless we bothered him. It was creepy. It wasn't like him at all to act so...lost."

Midori flashed back to the way Himura acted right after he came back from his time with the Yukishiro woman. Sanosuke has just done an admirable job of describing his behavior as it was then. Could it be that Himura was...mourning? For Midori?

Well, shit. It was obviously a good thing Midori wasn't dead after all, and that she had decided to find Himura when she left Kyoto. If not, then that stupid man would probably continue moping until he wasted away or his friends managed to snap him out of it; and if the current situation said much, with Himura missing and his friends at a loss as to what they should do, it was clear that the former was more likely than the latter.

That _baka_. How in the hell had he coped when he thought that _he_ had killed Midori, if simply awakening to find her supposedly dead could throw him this deeply into depression?

Midori carefully straightened where she sat, taking in deep calming breathes as she steadied herself. The others hovered around her, waiting for her to speak. She closed her eyes, trying to think, trying to calm her mind before the panic at the thought of Himura gone could cripple her. She must find him. She must.

"Where have you searched for him?" she asked in a soft voice.

"We've covered the north side of town, the west side, and part of the south side," Sanosuke replied immediately. His voice sounded barely controlled, and Midori opened her eyes to look at her friend. His face was closed, his eyes guilty.

"Why do you look guilty?" Midori asked; her voice was still soft, still calm. Whatever he said, this was not Sanosuke's fault, and she would not place the blame on him.

Sanosuke stuck his balled hands into the pockets of his pants, kicking fiercely at the dirt of the courtyard. "I might have...upset him. The night he ran off."

He trailed off, not looking at Midori but staring instead at a point somewhere past her left shoulder. Kaoru opened her mouth as though to speak, but Midori raised a trembling hand to silence her. Angry accusations would not do any good for anyone. She didn't want to hear anything except what Sanosuke still needed to say.

Sanosuke let out a huff, the angles of his face thrown into sharp relief as he turned his head to the side to glare at the training dojo. "Look, he was scaring the shit out of all of us, alright? Everybody was walking on eggshells around here so we didn't upset him, and we were tryin' our damndest to snap him out of it. It wasn't working. I found him out here the other night, sitting here on the porch and staring at the road just outside those gates. So the other night I figured that enough was enough, you know? He was hurting us, he was hurting himself, and, well...I thought you were dead, Midori. I would never have said what I did if I'd known that you were alive and on your way here to see him."

Midori cocked an eyebrow at Sanosuke. She had no idea what the man was talking about. What could he have possibly said that would have left Himura missing for two solid days?

"I might have...possibly...told him what you said to Jou-chan. The night before we went up to Mount Hiei. About...you being willing to die for him."

Oh, shit.

"You told him about that?" Midori exclaimed, jumping to her feet and getting very close to Sanosuke despite her wobbly legs. Her temper had just reared it's ugly head, and the monster was snapping at it's chains as it tried to break loose. "How the hell did you even know about that!"

She shot a quick look at Kaoru, about to explode at the girl for breaking her vow of silence, but the look on Kaoru's face stopped her angry words. She looked absolutely flabbergasted; she had obviously had no idea that Sanosuke knew of their conversation. Midori turned back to the tall, rooster-haired dumbass standing before her and reached up to bunch a fist into the cloth of his white jacket. She jerked down sharply, using her grip to pull Sanosuke down to her level so that she could glare into his face.

"What. Did. You. Say to him?"

"I - I didn't mean to - "

"Sanosuke!" Midori shouted, shaking her friend by her hold on his jacket. She was breathing heavily again, and the world was starting to tilt at the edges of her vision. "Tell me what you said to him! What did you say!"

"I told him that it pissed me off that you had gone up there willing to die for him!" Sanosuke shouted back, face red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. "I told him that it pissed me off that you died for him when you jumped in front of him and let that fucker Shishio stabbed you, and that he was thanking you for that by fucking wasting away! He was being an idiot, Midori! Wait 'til you see him, he's lost so much weight it's fucking sick! He hadn't been sleeping for weeks, he wouldn't eat anything. And every fucking time I looked at what's left of him, I saw that fucker Saito walking off with your dead body in his fucking arms! What the hell was I supposed to do, Midori? Sit back and watch another one of my friends die right in front of me?"

Midori abruptly let go of Sano, send him reeling away from her in an awkward retreat. She stared at him with wide eyes, his words ringing in her ears as the world slanted sharply and she found herself seated on the ground, her sheathed _katana_ near her hand and all of Himura's friends bending over her anxiously. She tried to catch her breath, tried to tell them that she was alright, but the world was spinning weirdly and things were getting oddly quiet.

Oh, hell no. Midori was not passing out in front of anybody, damn it.

She sat where she had fallen for a long moment, breathing in deeply and clenching her eyes shut to block out the way her vision was acting. She thought about Himura, about how stupid he really was acting and how much she wanted to punch him for his weepy behavior. She thought about Sanosuke's absurd guilt and felt like punching him, too; it wasn't his fault she had almost died. Midori had thrown herself in between Himura and a fucking _katana_ weilded by a maniac. Self-sacrifice, anyone? She realized that she still didn't know how Sanosuke had heard the conversation between herself and Kaoru-dono that had started this whole stupid mess, and resolved to force it out of him later.

But that could wait. Midori exhaled slowly and opened her eyes, wanting to get up, to move, to run. She had to find Himura. She had not gotten stabbed, cheated Death for a second time, put up with Saito's shit, and walked all the way from Kyoto to Tokyo for him to be off guilt-tripping somewhere. When she found him, she was going to hug him first and beat the shit out of him second. _Baka_.

"Let's go, Sanosuke," she growled as the fist-fighter helped her to her feet once again. "You're coming with me. The rest of you will stay here; I will send Sanosuke back to you once we have located Himura. I'm going to want to have a private conversation about utter stupidity when I find him."

* * *

_His stomach growls again - the fifth time in the last two minutes. Kenshin ignores it._

_He sits on the grassy bank of the river and stared at the water as it rushes past. Tokyo has had several good rains recently, so the river is high and moving fast. He watches as the waters sweeps away and wonders if it would carry his thought away where he to jump in. Would it wash away her face? Would it wash away Sano's words?_

_Sano. Guilt stabs at Kenshin as he registers that he has been gone from the dojo for the last two days, nearly three now judging on the position of the sun. His friends are probably frantic with worry over him. Sano is no doubt blaming himself, thinking that his words or actions are what caused Kenshin to leave. Kenshin knows that he should go back and apologize, reassure his friends that he is not leaving them permenantly; but though his brain tells him to get up and go, his body stays seated._

_She might come looking for him, here at the river where he found her that day. What if she comes, and Kenshin is at the dojo? What if he misses her because he goes away?_

_Kenshin isn't going anywhere. If the others come looking for him, then he will placate them and apologize before sending them on their way. But he will not go anywhere. Not yet. Not while there is still some hope that she will come to the river to find him._

* * *

Midori was beginning to become worried. She and Sanosuke had been searching for hours now with no success. They had searched the city from one end to the other, gone into every bar or inn or restaraunt asking if the patrons had seen a short red-head with a cross-shaped scar on his cheek. No one had seen him, night was falling around them, and Midori was becoming worried.

If Himura gave her grey hairs on this damned search, Midori vowed that she would chop off his hair in retaliation.

"Midori, you need to stop for a minute."

Sanosuke was currently holding on to her arm, just above the elbow. He had followed her all over Tokyo, not complaining when they researched the areas that he and the others had already been through. He insisted that she allow him to talk with the people they needed to question. Every few hours, he would force Midori to stop her search and rest for a few moments before they continued. Sanosuke looked every bit as haggard as Midori felt, and yet while she rested her friend eyed the crowd, always on the look-out for a head of flaming red hair.

She sank down to sit against the wall of the shop they had just exited, trying not to let Sanosuke see how much she was shaking. Part of it was because of the wound to her heart that had been Shishio's dying gift to her; she would need a few years to build up her endurance so that she did not weaken so quickly due to stress or labor. But Midori knew that a large part of the trembling was because Himura was gone, because they were searching all over and had yet to see hide nor hair of the man she loved. What if they never found him?

Where the hell was he? Where would he go in this city to grieve alone?

"Where should we look next, _aibou_?"

She didn't know. She had no idea where to go next. Midori looked up at Sanosuke, saw him register the hopelessness in her gaze. Her friend crouched down on his haunches in front of her, taking her trembling hands in his own rough ones.

"We'll find him, Midori," he whispered, trying to catch her wandering eyes again as she vainly searched the bustling crowd behind him. "He's still in Tokyo somewhere. I know he's here; I can feel it. He's here, and we're going to find him. Don't give up on me, Midori."

"But we have scored the city from one end to another!" Midori blurted out, feeling the stress prickle at her eyes. "Where would he go, Sanosuke? Where would Himura hide away in this godforsaken place that we would not have found him already? _Where is he!_?"

"I don't know!" Sanosuke pulled away, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "There's gotta be some place we're not thinking of. Some place kinda secluded, but open because Kenshin isn't fond of tight places. He likes the open air. He likes quiet and meditation, somewhere he can think, you know? But he didn't take his sakabato with him when he ran off, and he's not even wearing a gi, so I'm sure that he didn't leave the city. He's here, Midori! He's somewhere in Tokyo, and we're not stopping until we find him!"

Secluded. Open air. Quiet for meditation. Somewhere still in the city that fit all of those requirements. The puzzle pieces bounced around in Midori's head, clashing with one another as they struggled to fit together. Where in this city could a person go that was private yet open, quiet enough that meditation would be possible without being in a shrine or some other confining building? Where?

_When I wanted to be alone, to escape from Himura and his friends and think on my own, where did I run to?_

"The river!" Midori exclaimed, jumping to her feet and having to grab for Sanosuke's shoulder to stay upright. "Sanosuke, we haven't been to the river! That's where I went when I was here before to be alone. What if Himura has gone there now?"

"The river?" Sanosuke was stumbling along behind her as she pulled him through the crowds, unmindful of the people she knocked into or their angry shouts and curses, unmindful of the way her _katana's_ hilit constantly smacks the fist-fighter in the face. "But -"

"No, listen to me!" Midori's mind was buzzing, the puzzle pieces all falling neatly into place as she dragged Sanosuke after her on her mad dash to the river. "You said Himura spent hours every day and night staring at the road, did you not? What if he were looking for me? What if he was hoping that I would come back? If one were approaching the Kamiya dojo, anyone at the dojo would see them coming for a long ways off if they were watching the road! He was looking for me! And that day that you were stabbed by Saito, when Himura found me, I was down at the river. It was the anniversary of my Myoushu's murder, and I had wanted to be alone. What if Himura went there when he ran from the dojo, hoping that I would find him? What if he's waiting there now? We have to go! Come on, Sanosuke, run!"

* * *

_It has grown dark around him. Kenshin lies on the river bank as night lengthens, thinking; remembering._

_He remembers the first time he spoke to Midori. It had been a night like nearly every other during the early years of the Bakumatsu. He had been sent out to kill; had completed his mission; had gone back to the inn to clean himself of the blood and catch a few hours of troubled sleep._

_And she had been there at the wash stand, splashing water over her bloody arms. He had stood silently behind her for several minutes as she cleansed herself, studying this woman that so many of the Ishin Shishi were afraid of. He had heard the whispers of her skill, had heard the name their enemies had bestowed upon her. Standing in that dark room, examining her from behind as she washed, Kenshin had been frankly unimpressed. She was merely a girl trying to do a man's job. Women were not meant to kill._

_And then he had spoken, and she had turned to face him, and everything had changed._

_He had looked at this small girl, this young woman; looked into her green green eyes that seemed to crawl with shadows and spark with life at the same time as she eyed him up and down, and he had been transfixed. She was different from the women he had known in his life thus far. She was separate from those weak creatures that must be protected. The nickname, Death Panther, was explained after a glance at her face. This was no mere woman._

_She had been a killer._

_Kenshin remembers her rude comment about the color of his hair, and the drunken conversation about names some months later that gave birth to his silly nickname - ninjin. She had hated her alias; hated the way the men she killed with treated her, hated her fame. And so Kenshin had bestowed upon her his nickname for her, different from what the others called her but somehow not. He called her kabu, in keepings with the animal that the men around them saw in her; but he did not remind her of the death she brought in her wake, and for her that seemed to make a world of difference. And for Kenshin, to have one person, one peer aside from his commander - one person in the ranks of the killers he toiled beside - that did not call him Battousai was like a gift from the gods. He could be himself around his kabu, in a way that was barred to him around the men. He could be freer around her. He could be **happy**._

_She gave him that escape, and he repaid her by putting his blade through her chest. He had driven her into the arms of some monster like Makoto Shishio for comfort when he had betrayed her and left her for dead. He did not deserve to call himself her friend. He did not deserve her sacrifice. She should have let Shishio kill him; better him than her. And now she is gone from him again._

_She will never come back to him, because now she is dead for him twice over, and even her ghost must wish to avoid him._

_Kenshin curls into a ball on the riverbanks where he once held his kabu close and cries._

* * *

Midori stopped, panting harshly, when she heard the sobbing from some distance in front of them. A glance at Sanosuke, who was clutching one of her hands in his and sweating from their run, showed that the fist-fighter could hear the sounds too: his face had once again taken on that guilty quality, and his dark eyes looked suspisiously bright in the light of the full moon. Midori squeezed his hand once before drawing away.

"Go back to the dojo and tell the other's that we found him. If we do not return tonight, then we will be back no later than noon tomorrow. Go, Sanosuke, and get some sleep. I will take care of Himura."

She moved away without waiting to see if he would obey; she was confident that he would. Sanosuke knew that Midori wished to have a private conversation with Himura, and with the weight of his guilt at his brash words days before still riding heavy on his shoulders, Sanosuke would give Midori that courtesy. She would figure out how to rid him of that guilt later. Right now, she wanted to see Himura.

She just didn't know whether she wanted to kiss him in joy at being reunited or brain him for running off like a child and leaving the others to fret for his safety. Perhaps both.

It was good that her search was over, Midori thought to herself as she rounded a bend in the riverbanks and spotted a shirtless form hunched in on itself. Her body was done. Her legs shook so that she staggered as she walked, and twice in that last hundred feet Midori was forced to stop to catch her breath. She had overdone it today; she was paying for it now.

The things she put herself through for that stupid, red-headed moron...

Mdori flung herself gracelessly down beside Himura's bent form, panting her tiredness into the cool night air. Himura did not move to acknowledge her, and once her breath had settled again Midori turned her head to glare at the man she loved more than life.

"Are you going to sit there and cry all night, you fucking _baka_, or are you going to pull yourself together?" she demanded irritably.

Himura's head jerked up and around. His lavender eyes, red-rimmed and puffy from his tears, locked on her dropping emeralds as he stared at her in shock and disbelief. His mouth opened, closed, opened again as he struggled visibly to find the words.

"_Kabu_?" he whispered. "My _kabu_? Have you come to haunt me for my mistakes?"

Oh, for kami's sake.

"No, you dumbass," Midori grumbled, flopping back to lie in the grass and gaze at the moon, not wanting to see the evidence of Himura's grief any longer. "I am not dead. Therefore I can't haunt you. But, I can put my foot through that empty skull of yours to the grief and worry you caused me today, _baka ninjin_. Do you have any idea how long I've been looking -"

At this point, the fact that Midori was really sitting next to him apparently penetrated Himura's thoughts, for Midori found herself pinned to the ground by the weight of his body as Himura rained kisses upon her face and neck.

"_Kabu_," he murmured between kisses as he hugged her close to him. "My _kabu_, my Midori, mine. You came back to me. You came back as I knew you would. You came..."

With effort, Midori flipped them so that she was lying atop her beloved, sprawled against his chest and panting for breath as the night wavered around her. The kisses stopped abruptly, and the hug grew tighter.

"Kabu? Midori? What is happening?" He sounded panicked.

"I was stabbed in the heart, _baka ninjin_, even I can't bounce back so quickly from such a wound. I've been looking for you all damn day with Sanosuke, and I'm tired and worn out. Just shut up and lay here." Midori rubbed her cheek soothingly over his bare chest, revealing in the feel and smell and sound of him. She had found him. He was with her again, and Midori vowed that she would not be parted from him for a third time if she could prevent it. Himura was _hers_, and the gods help any who came against him.

"You scared me today, _baka ninjin_," she whispered, her own tears now falling from her eyes to his chest as she smiled against his flesh. "I survive a blade through the heart, deal with Saito and Cho and the constant headache of Saito's company, walk all the way from Kyoto just to see you, and I arrive at the dojo to find all in a panic because you have run off? I'm kicking your ass, _ninjin_, as soon as my strength returns. And then I'm holding you down while Sanosuke, Kaoru-dono, Yahiko-chan, and Megumi-san each have a turn. You _baka_, what were you thinking leaving as you did? Has my absense addled your brain beyond repair?"

"You have repaired it," Himura whispered into her hair, his hands roaming softly along her back as though to memorize the feel of her body. "I love you, Midori. Never leave me again."

"I didn't leave," she muttered, rubbing her nose over his heart and thrilling at the peace his presence brought her. "I was delayed. I'm not going anywhere any more, Kenshin. You are not leaving my sight ever again."

"I wonder how Kaoru-dono will take to another free-loader in her dojo?" Himura teased softly. Midori poked him in the ribs.

"I have more money than we could spend in three lifetimes, ninjin. Kaoru-dono will have nothing to bitch about. Although, she might not leave me much choice on whether to injure her or not when we return to the dojo. Once she sees that you are well and gets her hands on one of those damned bokkens..."

Midori looked up in time to catch sight of Kenshin's terrified expression. Her laughter rang in the night, washing the air of the taint of sadness and banishing the memory of Himura's tears forever. They were together again, and nothing and no one would rip them ashunder. All was well at last.

**_Owari._**

**_

* * *

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Sequel will be out eventually. Please review.


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